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I 


A LOYE MATCH 


BY THE AUTHOR OF L’ABBE CONSTANTIN 


( 


" 0 

Translated by H. de Veer and V. Foster 
l < 


2X 

/j**' 


KING APEPI 



BY 


VICTOR CHERBULIEZ 

DE L’ ACADEME FRANCHISE 



NEW YORK 

JOHN DELAY 

816 Broadway 
1889 

AS v*. 







Copyright, 1889, by 
JOHN DELAY 

t-'iobi*. 


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v 

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TROW’9 

PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY, 
NEW YORK. 


A LOVE MATCH 


He wrote in a note-book every morning and 
every evening, without needless words, in tele- 
graphic style, a short programme, a small re- 
port of his day’s doings. He had begun at the 
age of twenty, on October 3, 1869, and this is 
the brief entry made on that date : 

“ I am appointed Ensign in the Twenty -first 
Chasseurs 

When December 31st came round, he put 
the note-book of the expiring year away in a 
drawer, and went on to that of the year fol- 
lowing. 

She also kept an account of her life during 
her girlhood, but with greater care and more in 
detail, in pretty little blue morocco-bound vol- 
umes, strictly locked. She had begun at the 
age of sixteen, and her first sentence, dated 
May 17, 1876, was worded thus : 

“ To-day I put on my first long dress.” 

She was married August 17, 1879, and after 
that wrote nothing more in the little blue mo- 


4 


A LOVE MATCH. 


rocco volumes ; but she kept, mysteriously hid- 
den away, in the bottom of a secret drawer, 
the leaves which told of her life between the 
month of May, 1876, and the month of August, 
1879; from her first long dress to her marriage. 

He, too, was married August 17, 1879, but 
he had not ceased his daily entries, and so it 
was that in one of the drawers of his writing- 
table there lay thirteen little note-books in 
which his life was jotted down, day by day, 
most minutely, despite the abrupt shortness of 
the entries. From time to time he would 
amuse himself by taking out one of these books 
at random. He would open it and read some 
fifteen or twenty pages, thus living the past 
over again, comparing the yesterday with the 
to-day. 

On June 19, 1881, the young ensign of 1869, 
now a captain and about to be promoted to the 
rank of major, was alone in his study, toward 
ten in the evening, and, with his head, buried in 
his hands, was trying to remember whether it 
was in the spring of 1878 or in the spring of 
1879 that he had published, in the Officers' Bul- 
letin, an essay on the “ New Organization of the 
Commissariat in Austria-Hungary.” It occurred 
to him that he would probably find the date of 
its publication in his diary. 

So he opened the drawer containing his note- 


A LOVE MATCH. 


5 


books, and chance led him to lay his hand im- 
mediately on the year 1879. He commenced to 
glance through the little volume ... he was 
turning over page after page, when suddenly he 
stopped and, with marked attention, read through 
a passage which caused him to smile. He got 
up, left his desk, seated himself in a large arm- 
chair, and there continued his reading. He was 
no longer thinking of the organization of the 
commissariat in Austria-Hungary. Old memo- 
ries were evidently awakening in his heart, and 
at the same time brought a smile to his lips and 
gave a tender look to his eyes ; three or four 
times even, this cavalry captain was forced to 
hurriedly brush away a rising tear. 

He was intent on his reading, when one of the 
hangings in his study was softly drawn aside, 
andf a charming, fair head appeared, framed in 
by the old tapestry 

What could he be doing in the big arm-chair ? 
Could he have gone to sleep? Half an hour 
before he had mercilessly sent her away because 
he had work to do, and her presence confused 
him and diverted his thoughts completely from 
his work. With infinite precaution, looking 
very delicate and supple in the long folds of her 
white tea-gown, the little blonde glided across 
the room, took two or three steps on the tips of 
her toes, bent ovfcr a little on one side 


6 


A LOVE MATCH. 


No, he was not asleep — he was reading, and 
most attentively, too, for he had heard nothing, 
and did not stir. He was in his right, for read- 
ing is working, of course. Holding her breath, 
she continued her course toward the arm-chair, 
slowly, very slowly — and, as she thus advanced,, 
she asked herself a question. She was still 
something of a child — only twenty-one years old 
and very much in love — and this is the question 
she was asking herself : 

Where shall I kiss him ? on his forehead, or 
on his cheek — or a little bit everywhere, hig- 
gledy-piggledy? • 

She was nearing him — already the tips of her 
fingers almost touched the captain’s hair, and 
she was going to decide boldly for higgledy-pig- 
gledy , when suddenly she turned ghastly pale 
— on the two open pages of the little note-book 
she had read : 


June 1 6th, 

I love her ! 

June 11th , 

I love her ! ! 

One note of exclamation after the first I love 
her ! two after the second. It had increased be- 
tween the 16th and 17th ! 

She gave a slight scream and, trembling all 
over, exclaimed : 


A LOVE MATCH. 


7 


What is this ? What is this V 

She was on the point of fainting. He arose 
and held her in his arms, but she, bursting into 
tears and pouring forth a torrent of words, 
mingled with sobs, exclaimed : 

June 16th, I love her ! June 17th, I love 
her ! ! and to-day is June 19th ! You love an- 
other woman ! oh, this is terrible, terrible ! 

Then he, drying her tears with two kisses, re- 
plied : 

But look, you little simpleton, only look ! 
He opened the diary at the first page, which 
bore in large type the figures 1879. 

Oh, cried she, joyously, in the midst of a 
few lingering sobs, it was I ! it was I ! Then 
she added, naively, imprudently : 

Like me, too ! So it seems that you too — ? 
She was obliged to confess that if he had writ- 
ten, “ I love her,” in a little black morocco book, 
she also had written, “ I love him,” in a little 
blue morocco volume. 

Show me the diary, let me see if there are 
three notes of exclamation on the 18th, and four 
on the 19 th. 

A fair exchange, he replied. Go and bring 
your little books ; we will compare them, and 
see which of us two carries the palm for notes 
of exclamation. 

The temptation was too strong. She went in 


8 


A LOVE MATCH. 


search of her year 1879, and returned with three 
volumes of a considerable size. 

Three volumes ! he exclaimed. 

Yes, the first three quarters. And you have 
but one wretched, little, insignificant note-book 
for the whole year. 

Much can be said in a few words. You shall 
see. Come and sit here beside me. There is 
room for two in the arm-chair. 

Yes, by sitting on your knee. But I can’t do 
that because 

Because ? 

Because there are perhaps things in my books 
you ought not to see. 

She pointed to her blue volumes, and he, 
pointing to his note-book, replied : 

Here, too, perhaps. You are right. Let us 
keep at a distance, opposite one another. We 
will only read what we want to. 

And we may skip 

Agreed, said he ; you begin. 

No, you begin — to give me courage. 

So be it, but begin where ? 

Well, replied she, where I come in. 

No, I must begin a little before you. I must 
begin where Jupiter comes in. 

You are quite right. See where Jupiter be- 
gins. 

Wait a moment, it must be in the first fort- 


A LOVE MATCH. 


9 


night of May. Yes, here we are. “ Thursday , 
May 15 th. Been to see ''Jupiter ’ at ‘ Cheri’s ; 5 
bay brown horse, aged seven; catalogue indi- 
cations : good saddle-horse, high action , good 
fencer , has been ridden by a lady. To be sold, 
May 21st. Highly recommended by ‘ Estilly.’ ” 
And two pages further : u Saturday, May 17th. 
Seen Jupiter. Seems a very nice horse. Shall 
go to 2,500 francs.” And at last, four pages 
further: “ Wednesday, May ^Ist ” 

The day we met in the train ; I remember 
the date. 

Yes, you are right. “ Wednesday , May 21 st. 
To the Ministry of War. To my sister’s. 
Bought Jupiter ; 1,900 francs. On way home 
in train ravishing young girl sat opposite me. ” 

Is that there ? You are not making it up ? 

I am making up nothing. 

Let me see ! 

Look there. 

Yes, I see. Ravishing — it is ravishing, right 
enough. 

Your turn now. You must have something 
on May 21st. 

I should hope not ! Do you fancy I wrote, 
“ On my return in the train ravishing young 
man sat opposite me ? ” 

No ! not ravishing young man, but look, all 
the same. 


10 


A LOVE MATCH. 


Very well, as a satisfaction — let us see. 
“ Wednesday , May 21$£ To Louvr$. To my 
aunt’s. To the Salon.” There is nothing, I 
tell you. But yes — I see something. 

I was sure of it — you had noticed me. 

Here we have it : “ On our return in the rail- 
way, young man sat opposite me. He looked 
at me during the whole, whole journey. As 
soon as I raised my eyes he cast his down ; but 
as soon as I cast mine down he raised his, and 
from Chatou on, I felt that he stared at me so 
hard that I no longer dared to look up. I had 
an English novel in my bag. I took it out, and 
began to read it, but in the evening I was 
obliged to go over all I fancied I had read in 
the train.” 

That is not all. I think there is something 
else. 

Yes. But of no interest whatever. 

Read away ; I read everything. 

Oh ! you — you — I can see what it is going 
to be. Yours will be short dry notes the 
whole time, while in mine there will be details, 
developments. I will explain to you why. 
When Miss Guizard, my governess, left me, she 
said to me : “ My dear child, you do not write 
at all badly, but you must continue to practise ; 
it is as indispensable for style as for the piano. 
Form the habit of writing three or four pages 


A LOVE MATCH. 


11 


every evening, no matter on what subject — on 
your day’s occupation, the visits you have re- 
ceived and paid, etc.” Therefore I was only 
doing what Miss Guizard advised. 

Well, very good. 

No, but I wish to make this point clear be- 
cause, as I was saying, I know what it is going 
to be. You will fancy you are listening to a 
flow of sentiment and passion when, in point of 
fact, they are nothing but exercises in style and 
essays in French prose. 

I will avoid any such mistake, but what 
have we after, “ He was staring at me the whole 
time ? ” 

Nothing at all about you. Just listen. 
“ Can it be true what grandmamma was say- 
ing the other day : How extraordinary ! little 
Jeanne has all of a sudden become very pretty ? ” 
And then there is a long conversation between 
mamma and grandmamma. Mamma was blam- 
ing grandmamma for putting such things into 
my head, making me vain, etc. It is of no 
interest, you see. Now you go on. I have no 
entry on the 2 2d. 

Neither have I. 

“ May 23 d. Jupiter arrived. Tried him 
on the terrace and in the wood. Think he is 
excellent.” 

And of me ? 


12 


A LOVE MATCH. 


Nothing. 

This is somewhat humiliating, for I have 
something about you on the 23d. “ The young 

man who was looking at me in the train yester- 
day was an officer. He passed the house to-, 
day on horseback, in uniform. He had three 
silver stripes on his sleeves. He did more than 
pass. What I am going to write is absurd ; but, 
after all, what does it matter, as I am only writ- 
ing for myself ? Can he really have noticed me 
in the train yesterday ? Has he been asking 
‘ about me ? Does he know I live here ? Can 
he have hoped to impress me ? He stayed at 
least a quarter of an hour on the terrace be- 
tween the Pavilion Henry IV. and the railing, 
making his horse go through his paces, pranc- 
ing, curvetting, etc., etc. To hope to impress me 
in this, way would denote a very commonplace 
turn of mind.” 

How unjust ! See, here is my entry : “ Tried 
Jupiter I was simply trying Jupiter and, find- 
ing out that he had been excellently trained — - 
But, go on. 

To proceed : u In the evening, after dinner, 
I said to George, who, in spite of his twelve 
years, still delights in playing with • his tin sol- 
diers, and who is pretty well posted on military 
matters, George, what is an officer who has 
three silver stripes on his sleeves ? That’s a 


A LOVE MATCH. 


13 


captain. Is it fine to be a captain ? That 
depends — it’s fine at five and twenty, it’s 
wretched at fifty. Twenty-five, he may be a 
little more, but not much. Grandmamma, who 
has sharp ears, had overheard my conversation 
and exclaimed : You don’t know what’s going 
on ; here is Jeanne asking George for information 
about the military. I turned as red as a peony. 
A long discussion followed. Grandmamma de- 
clared she had a weakness for the military, 
while mamma said that she could never resign 
herself to giving me up to a man who would 
drag me about from one garrison town to anoth - 
er. I wonder why I am writing all this non- 
sense in my diary. It is only to obey Miss Gui- 
zard.” There, see for yourself that I wrote that. 
Your turn now, I have finished. 

On the 24th, two lines only : “ Met the young 
lady of last Wednesday on horseback, in the 
forest. Very pretty, there is no mistake, and 
does not look at all bad on horseback.” 

Is that all ? How dry it sounds ! You 
might have added something nice. 

Yes, my love. You are quite right, my notes 
are awfully dry; but, see here, if I were not 
afraid of being thought a flatterer 

Why, don’t be afraid — there is no one here. 

I should tell you that all that is not written 
in that little book is written here, in my heart. 


14 


A LOVE MATCH. 


That May morning, that meeting in the forest 
. . . to-day, after the lapse of two years. 

I remember it all, even to the slightest details. 
We had been manoeuvring from five to seven 
o’clock on the “Terrain des Loges,” in a most 
terrible dust. I had brought my squadron back 
to barracks, changed my horse, and started out 
on Jupiter. 

Dear Jupiter ! 

A quarter of an hour later, as I was gallop- 
ing up a long, rising avenue, quite close to the 
“ Val,” I saw a small cavalcade coming, you 
on Jenny, your black mare, George on his roan 
pony, and old Louis behind, on a big gray 
horse. You see, I even remember the horses’ 
colors. Suddenly, at fifty yards’ distance, I was 
dazzled — I recognized you — abruptly, harshly, 
I brought Jupiter to a walk. The small caval- 
cade passed beside me — I can see you now in 
your gray riding-habit, your black hat, and the 
fair hair curling beneath your veil — and as you 
passed I said to myself, “Really, there is no one 
in the world so charming as this young girl.” 
And you, what were you saying % 

What I may have said to myself I no longer 
remember, but here is what I wrote. And in 
a slightly tremulous voice, for she had been 
very much moved by these reminiscences, Jeanne 
read as follows : 


A LOVE MATCH. 


15 


“ I have met him this morning, near the Val. 
He was coming up at a gallop, and suddenly, on 
recognizing me, he pulled up his horse — yes, on 
recognizing me — I saw the movement very well. 
I know what it is to pull up a horse when gallop- 
ing — one gives him some warning. Well ! he 
pulled up his horse without any warning, harshly, 
instantly almost. He passed quite close to us. 
I did not dare to look at him, but I felt well 
enough that he was looking at me. He was 
hardly ten yards oiff, when that little stupid of 
a George said to me : Oh, Jeanne, did you see ? 
Did he not look funny, with all that dust on 
him ? He looked like a miller. It is a captain 
in the Twenty -first ; there was No. 21 on the 
collar of his uniform. I was furious with 
George. I do hope he did not hear ! ” 

I did hear. I remember now. 

Go on ; read — it is your turn. 

“ Wednesday , May %dtJi. Saw my unknown 
again. She lives in one of the houses on the 
terrace. I was going past in a dog-cart and 
she was at the window ; she saw me, and it 
seemed to me that it was because she saw me 
that she left the window abruptly, most ab- 
ruptly. Good heavens ! how charming she 
is ! ” 

Aha ! not quite so dry as before. There is 
an improvement ; you begin to make sentences. 


16 


A LOYE MATCH. 


Perhaps that is because I begin to be in love 
— your turn now. 

“ May 25th. I was at the window, when I 
saw a little dog-cart coining along, very natty, 
all sparkling in the sun, and drawn by a love 
of a pony, black as ink ; on the seat sat a small 
tiger in faultless get-up, and beside the small 
tiger he, the captain. I ought to have remained 
quite quietly at the window, but I could not. I 
said to myself, I shall certainly look at him, and 
he will notice it. Fear seized me, and I ran 
back to the end of the drawing-room. Grand- 
mamma said to me : What is the matter with 
you, Jeanne ? Nothing, grandmamma. George, 
who had been with me at the window, called 
out : Jeanne, just fancy, the captain that has 
just gone by is the miller of yesterday morning, 
I do believe.” 

I was the miller. 

You, yourself. On May 26th I have nothing, 
absolutely nothing. Oh, you may look ! there 
is nothing at all about you. “ Tried on my pink 
gown ; it fitted well, but there were not enough 
small pleats. I am having some more put in, 
etc., etc.” I was thinking only of my pink dress. 
You see I was not so very much taken upAvith 
yon. 

Well, for me the 26th was a great day ; 
that was Picot’s day. I have only two lines 


A LOVE MATCH. 


17 


down, but they are eloquent. “ Given twenty 
francs to Picot. He is a profound diplomatist.” 

Here is an opportunity, if ever there was, 
for adding something pretty again. 

With the greatest pleasure. In the morn- 
ing, while breakfasting at the 4 Pension,’ I had 
said to Dubrisay, who is forever prowling about 
the forest on horseback : Ho you happen to 
know a young girl who rides about with a small 
lad of about twelve, and an old servant ? Let 
me see — she rides a black mare, the young girl — 
And the old servant a gray horse, said another 
of the gentlemen. And the lad a roan pony, 
added a third. Then there was a great discus- 
sion as to the value of the horses. The roan 
pony was thought excellent, and the black mare 
slightly worn. 

That was a fact — luckily. 

Luckily, indeed ! I said : I am asking you 
neither about the gray horse nor the black mare, 
I am speaking of the young lady.” But all three 
replied that they only looked at the horses. I 
was a deal the wiser. So I went home. To- 
ward three o’clock I noticed Picot, my orderly, 
loafing in the court-yard, so I called him from 
the window. Picot is a Parisian and very wide- 
awake. I said to him : “ Picot, try to find out, 
skilfully, who are the people living in such 
a house on the terrace ; the entry is Rue des 
2 


18 


A LOVE MATCH. 


Arcades. Very well, Captain. But you un- 
derstand me — skilfully, mind. Yes, Captain. 
If you find out anything, you can let me know 
to-morrow morning at the barracks. 

You were not very impatient, you might 
have told him to come back immediately. 

That was what he did. An hour later he 
came back triumphant. And then Picot made 
such a wonderful speech that I took the trouble 
of noting it down, as exactly as possible, in the 
little note-book. 

Took the trouble, indeed ! Tell the truth, 
now — confess that you found it a pleasure to 
write down things which concerned me ; then, 
perhaps, I shall confess that I did not find it 
disagreeable to write down things in which 
you 

— Well, I confess it. 

— And I too. Now read on. 

I am reading. “ Picot came up and said to 
me : Captain, I have got all the information ; 
only please, when once I have begun, do not in- 
terrupt me with questions, or I shall get it all 
mixed up. I have repeated my lesson all along 
the road so as not to forget it. The house was 
rented three weeks ago by a family from Paris. 
The master is a Mr. Labliniere, an engineer, a 
manufacturer ; he makes steam-engines, tele- 
graphs, etc. He lives there with his mother-in- 


A LOVE MATCH. 


19 


law, his wife, and his two children — a young 
lady (nineteen years old) and a little boy (aged 
twelve). — Wait, I know the children’s names — 
Jeanne and George. They are rich, very rich in- 
deed — five horses in the stable, three carriages, 
four men-servants, a cook, three chambermaids ; 
Julia, Adelai . . . but you don’t care about 
the chambermaids 1 names, Captain. Their ad- 
dress in Paris is 28 Boulevard Haussmann. 
How did I find all this out ? Why, by chatting 
with the janitor — no, please, don’t interrupt me 
— that would muddle me. I see what is worry- 
ing you, Captain. You think that I have made 
a fool of myself, that I said 1 was sent by you \ 
Not at all. You are wondering : How did this 
fool of a Picot manage to get into conversation ? 
It was not so very difficult, Captain. Believe 
me, I don’t deserve any great credit. He was 
before his door — the janitor, I mean — when I 
came upon him, quite leisurely, like a soldier 
idling along without any particular object. 
When I was just in front of him I mopped my 
face and remarked : It is hot. . . . He replied : 
Yes, very hot indeed. — I went on : Not quite 
so hot as yesterday, though ; and he said : No, 
because there is a slight breeze. That was the 
start off ; the ice was broken, and we began to 
chat. Just as I was manoeuvring to get at the 
principal question I saw a young lady, devilish 


20 


A LOVE MATCH. 


pretty, Captain, saving your presence, coming 
down the steps at the bottom of the court, with 
a big piece of bread in her hand. I said to the 
janitor: Is that your mistress? No, said he, 
that is the daughter of the tenant, a gentle- 
man from Paris. Then he spun out the whole 
yarn I told you just now. There was nothing 
to give me credit for, I repeat, Captain; the 
janitor just rattled it oif without requiring any 
winding up. He was still going on, when I saw 
the young lady coming across the yard with- 
out her bit of bread, and the janitor said to 
me : There she is again, the daughter of the 
Paris gentleman ; every day she goes to give 
her horse a piece of bread in the stable. All 
the while the young lady was going up the 
steps, but very slowly, and looking at me. She 
seemed surprised to see me there, and seemed to 
be saying to herself, What on earth is that 
chasseur doing there ? Then she went back 
into the house. All this time the janitor was 
singing the young lady’s praises, and such 
praises ! She was so gentle and so good, not 
only to horses, but to people too. Thus, for 
instance, when they arrived three weeks before, 
the janitor’s little daughter had been ill. Well, 
would you believe that this young lady — but 
excuse me, Captain, perhaps you don’t care about 
all this ? You do ! Very well, then, I continue. 


A LOVE MATCH. 


21 


I was saying that she came to see the janitor’s 
little girl every day ; she sent her broth and all 
sorts of delicacies, and brought her playthings 
herself. She would sit with her sometimes a 
quarter of an hour at a time, telling the child 
stories. The janitor was telling me all this, 
when a lady’s-maid came down— fine woman, 
Captain, saving your presence. Well, she comes 
along and says to the janitor : Are there no 
letters for my young lady? — Oh, no; you know 
I always take the young lady’s letters up 
immediately. — I thought to myself, Hallo, per- 
haps I can get something out of the lady’s- 
maid. So I began again : It’s very warm, 
miss. — It is indeed. — So I continued : Not 
quite so warm as yesterday. It took just as 
well as with the janitor, and so we soon got 
into conversation. The lady’s-maid asked me 
whether I knew a fellow called Camers, corporal 
in the 10th Hussars, and we were chatting away, 
when suddenly she called out : Oh, I must be 
off — my mistress is waiting for me ! Would 
your mistress be angry with you ? would she 
scold you ? My mistress be angry and scold 
me ? oh, never ! There is no kinder lady in 
the world than my mistress.” 

— Is that all ? 

— Yes, that is all. 

— So you set a spy at me ? 


22 


A LOVE MATCH. 


• — Indeed I did ; but now for your history of 
the 26th. 

— Here it is. u Tuesday , May 2 7th. Yester- 
day afternoon I went to bring Nelly some bread ; 
when going down the steps I saw a soldier talk- 
ing to the janitor. I stayed quite live minutes in 
the stable, and I looked again as I came out ; the 
soldier was still there. I went up into my 
room and found Julia there. When curiosity 
gets the better of you it is something dreadful ! 
So I said to Julia : I expect a letter from Paris ; 
just go down and see if the janitor has re- 
ceived it yet. Off she went — I waited. Julia 
did not come back, so I went into my dressing- 
room, which looks into the court-yard, and there 
was Julia talking to the soldier ! At last she 
came back. There was no letter for you, miss. — 
What a long time you have been gone ! Oh, no, 
miss. — Yes, you were. I saw you ; you were talk- 
ing to a hussar. — A hussar ! indeed I was not, 
miss. — But I tell you I saw you. — Indeed, I was 
not talking to a hussar, miss ! it was a chasseur ; 
they wear a quite different uniform. Hussars 
have white braid and chasseurs have black ; 
hussars have their collar the same shade as their 
tunic, while chasseurs have a red collar. — How 
do you come to know all that, Julia ? I have a 
cousin in the hussars, miss. At St. Germain, here, 
there are no hussars, there are only chasseurs— 


A LOVE MATCH. 


23 


two regiments, the 21st and 22d; they form a 
single brigade. — The soldier who was here just 
now was a chasseur in the 21st. — In the 21st! 
his regiment ! My military conversation with 
Julia was fated to have dire consequences. 
— Toward six o’clock we went with mamma 
for a walk on the terrace. There we saw 
two officers of the chasseurs. Mamma re- 
marked to me, What fine horses these hussars 
have. Thoughtlessly I replied : They are not 
hussars, mamma, they are chasseurs ; hussars 
have .white braid and chasseurs have black ; 
hussars have their collars the same color as 
their tu . . . I stopped abruptly. I was 

looking at mamma, who appeared horrified. 
— How do you come to know all that ? Only 
through Julia, mamma. She has a cousin 
in the hussars, and one day while she was do- 
ing my hair — A strange subject of conver- 
sation ! remarked mamma, and nothing fur- 
ther was said. — But all was not over. Papa 
arrived from Paris and told us at dinner he had 
met an officer in the train. — Him, perhaps ! — A 
colonel — it was not he ! — Papa had spent a 
month last year with this colonel at Cauterets. 
They used to be partners at whist. In the 
train they had renewed their acquaintance. 
Papa had invited him to dinner next week on 
Wednesday, June the 4th. I said to papa : Is 


24 


A LOVE MATCH. 


this colonel’s regiment at St. Germain? Yes, 
his regiment is here. — Is it the 21st or the 
2 2d ? — Are there two regiments here ? — Yes, 
papa, the 21st and the 22d; they form a single 
brigade. . . . Papa was still more taken 

aback than mamma had been. — Who on earth 
told yon all that? Only Julia. She has a 
cousin in the hussars. ... I can’t make it out 
at all, said mamma, Jeanne has begun to talk 
of nothing but chasseurs and hussars. Oh, 
ho ! said grandmamma, some handsome officer 
has perhaps caught her eye. — I blushed scar- 
let, and answered impatiently, almost rudely. 
I am beginning to feel really vexed with this 
man, whom I do not know at all, whom I shall 
never know. Yes, I am really vexed with him, 
for having entered into my life in this way. 
Why did he look at me in the train ? Why 
did he come prancing about under my windows ? 
Why did he put his horse to a ^alk the other 
day when he saw me ? If I meet him, as soon 
as ever 1 recognize him I shall put my horse to 
the gallop, full gallop. Alas ! — full gallop will 
hardly suit poor Nelly, she is getting old. But 
papa is going to give me another horse for my 
birthday. ... 

“ I should like to know whether it is his 
colonel who is going to dine with us on W ed- 
nesday, June 4th.” 


A LOVE MATCH. 


25 


This was the last sentence of the entries on 
May the 27th. 

She then glanced through about ten pages of 
her diary. 

From May the 28th to June the 3d, nothing 
about you, absolutely nothing. 

And here, repJied he, there is nothing about 
you either. We had the misfortune to see 
nothing of each other during those eight days. 
I was not at St. Germain. We had gone, 
about twenty of us, officers in the two regiments, 
with the general and both the colonels to the 
manoeuvres between Vernon and Rouen. I had 
taken Jupiter, and my entries during this week 
contain many flattering things about my new 
horse : Jupiter perfect — vigorous , spirited , but 
gentle . Yesterday the colonel rode Jupiter and 
pronounced him perfect, etc., etc .’ On June the 
3d, at eight in the evening, we got back to St. 
Germain, and on June the 4th — there now ! 
Shall I see my little blonde of the terrace 
again ? 

And here is what I have on June the 4th : 
“ I know his name. This evening we had the 
colonel to dinner. He came at seven o’clock. 
My eyes went straight to the collar of his 
tunic. — There was the number, 21. — It was his 
colonel. During the dinner quite a common- 
place conversation ; but after dinner, as I was 


26 


A LOVE MATCH. 


pouring out the coffee, Colonel, said papa, per* 
haps you could do me a service. I want to 
give this young lady a horse ; if you should 
happen to know of a good animal, nice and 
quiet. . . .” 

“ Here I remonstrated : Oh, not too quiet, 
Colonel, I know how to ride quite well. (This 
is perfectly true ; I do ride well.) I will look 
out for one, replied the colonel ; I will in- 
quire. — By the way ! one of the officers in ray 
regiment has a horse that would suit your 
daughter admirably. I rode it a few days ago. 
It is a most perfect animal. — Would he let 
me have it, said papa, with a handsome profit ? 
Oh, to this officer a handsome profit would 
be a matter of indifference. He is rich ; very 
well off indeed. — He is a captain, Mr. de 
Leonelle. A captain, and well off ! exclaimed 
George. Perhaps he is the officer we saw the 
other day, in the clog-cart with a black pony.— 
That is the man. — Oh ! my sister and I know 
him very well ; we have met him several times. 
This time I felt my cheeks burning, literally 
burning. The colonel looked at me. — I was 
crimson. — He must have noticed it. At ten 
he went away, and as he left he said to me : I 
shall speak to Mr. de Leonelle to-morrow morn- 
ing, but I very much fear I shall not succeed. 
. . . He quite dotes on this horse of his. 


A LOVE MATCH. 


27 


“ That is how matters stand at present. 

“ Am I going to buy his horse from him ? 
Papa allows me a credit up to 3,000 francs.” 

Now we come to June 5th, the decisive day. — 
The visit to the photographer’s at the fair. — • 
And your first call. You begin. 

The distance between them had decreased. 
She had settled down, not on his knee, but on a 
little stool at his feet, and as he read she rested 
her head coaxingly on his knees ; till, availing 
himself of the advantages of the position, which 
he completely commanded, the captain began to 
bombard Jeanne with kisses, when she repelled 
him very gently, not at once, though. 

No ; do stop, she said. Stop, and read on. 

So he went on : 

“ Thursday , June 5 th. This morning, after 
the manoeuvres, we were coming home at a walk, 
along the Avenue des Loges, when the colonel 
sent the adjutant for me; so I rode up and joined 
the colonel at the head of the column. — Cap- 
tain, said he, you don’t wish to sell your new 
horse ? Certainly not, Colonel ! Not even with 
a handsome profit ? No, not even with a hand- 
some profit. — It’s for a very pretty little lady, 
who knows you, into the bargain ! Knows 
me, Colonel? Yes, she has met you several 
times. She has seen you on the terrace. In 
fact, she seemed to know you — and I even fan- 


28 


A LOVE MATCH. 


cied that. when I mentioned your name yester- 
day she most decidedly blushed. And who 
may she be, Colonel ? She is the daughter of 
an engineer, a Mr. Labliniere. A blonde, Col- 
onel ? Yes, a blonde. Living in a house on 
the terrace ? Precisely ; so you see you know 
her. By sight only, Colonel. Well, consider 
whether you can make up your mind to sell 
your horse to this pretty blonde. Good morn- 
ing, Captain. — Sell Jupiter — to anyone else, 
never ! But to her ? I hesitate — she is so 
pretty ! She blushed on hearing my name ! 
why, I wonder? 

“ My sister Louise arrived at eleven o’clock. 
She came with her children to lunch with me. 
It is the St. Germain fair, and after lunch the 
children are to go and see the booths. Uncle, 
if there is a photographer you will have our 
pictures taken? Yes, dears. 

“There just happened to be a photographer, 
and so we entered his booth. She was there, 
with her little brother, her mother, and a fat 
black poodle. The little brother was on his 
knees beside the black poodle and was endeavor- 
ing to induce him to stay quite quiet : Come, 
Bob — don’t move, we want to take your picture. 

“ But Bob would pay no attention to the 
prayers of the little boy, who was beginning to 
lose courage. Speak to him, Jeanne, speak to 


A LOVE MATCH. 


29 


him ; you are the only one who has any authority 
over him — and speak English to him, he under- 
stands English much better than French. No, 
George, what a foolish idea. Jeanne, dear little 
Jeanne 

“She made up her mind, and, looking at 
Master Bob very sternly, said in English : Now , 
Bob , Master Bob , be obedient ! look at me , so ! 
Now, be still ! Hush ! still ! 

“ Without doubt she has authority over the 
black poodle. He remained motionless. Her 
voice is charming. And her face, I contemplated 
it there, quite at my ease, with the full light on 
it — it is a marvel of grace and youth.” 

— Stop a minute. . . . Let me see. 

—Why? 

— I still suspect some little embellishments. 

You are wrong- — look. 

Yes, I see it — marvel of grace and youth . 
Very well, read on. 

I continue. “ She shall have Jupiter ! As 
she went out she said to my sister (it seemed 
to me as if there were a slight tremor in 
her voice) : I beg your pardon, madam, for 
having kept you waiting. I ought to have 
thought of something to say. But no, I could 
think of nothing. I was ridiculous. I bowed 
— she made me a slight bow, and left the pho- 
tographer’s tent. What a charming young 


30 


A LOVE MATCH. 


girl, said my sister. Yes, indeed, I replied, 
and that started me off ! — I told my sister 
what her name was, where she lived, that the 
father was an engineer of the greatest merit, 
etc., etc. I felt a need to speak of her. . ‘ . . 

Astonishment on the part of my sister. Why, 
you are in love ! In love ! no. Oh, but you are 
in love, though. Well, I shall have to make 
inquiries. She would make me a very pretty 
sister-in-law.” 

“ I escorted Louise back to the railway. 

No, I am not in love. . . . But she shall have 

Jupiter ! only there was one thing I was anxious 
about. . . .Yes, Cheri’s catalogue certainly 

said : Has been ridden by a lady . . . . But 

one must distrust catalogue indications. . . . 

Poor little dear ! if an accident were to happen 
to her ! I had a side-saddle* at home, as my 
sister sometimes came out for a ride with me. 
So I said to Picot : Put the side-saddle on 
Jupiter, and take him into the riding-school. 
Take a rug with you. . . 

“ A quarter of an hour afterward I was mak- 
ing Picot ride, lady-fashion, on Jupiter; I had 
wrapped . his legs in the rug to form a riding 
skirt. Jupiter went off at a gallop. — Ah, Cap- 
tain, he knows his business, called out Picot; 
he has been ridden by a lady.” 

u I wished to make the trial myself. I set- 


A LOVE MATCH. 


31 


tied myself in my turn on Jupiter, lady -fashion, 
with my knees wrapped in the rug. I trotted 
Jupiter and I galloped him ; and, as I trotted 
him and as I galloped him, I was saying to 
myself : To think that I am here in this posi- 
tion, and in this ridiculous get-up, because a 
fortnight ago I met a little blonde in the t;*ain 
reading an English novel. Well, decidedly, 
Jupiter has been ridden by a lady. . . . She 
shall have Jupiter ! ... But how am I to 

give him to her ? It would be the proper thing 
to place the horse at the colonel’s disposal. No, 
I will go myself to her house immediately. Oif 
I went. . . . Picot followed, leading Jupi- 

ter ; we arrived and entered the court-yard. I 
glanced at Picot ; he had a knowing look, seem- 
ing to say : Oh, ho ! this is what the captain 
sent me reconnoitring for. . . .” 

“ I rang the bell. — Monsieur Labliniere ? — 
Monsieur is in Paris. — Madame Labliniere ? — 
Madame is here ?— Take in my card ; say I have 
come about a horse. . . 

“ The servant went in to announce me. 
What if she were not there. . . . She was 
there ! — with her mother, her little brother, and 
her black poodle. . . . After that I do not 

know what happened. I must have behaved 
absurdly. I have a faint recollection that there 
was something said about a pelham, martingale, 


32 


A LOVE MATCH. 


snaffle. I believe I told her the horse’s name 
was Jupiter. ... I left, begging her to 
keep Jupiter, and try him a week, a fortnight. 
Something had to be said about the price. The 
words at this moment scorched my tongue. . . . 
But still, I could not make her a present of Jupi- 
ter.. I shall have to take her money. We went 
down into the yard, and there, near Jupiter, we 
had another conversation, as mad and as ridicu- 
lous as the one in the drawing-room. I was 
dying to say to this charming creature : You 
are an angel and I adore you ! and what I did 
say was : You must give the horse ten measures 
of oats, 'etc., etc. I uttered the most amazing 
absurdities. I told her, I remember now, that 
the horse required a light weight, and that he 
would be happier with her than with me. . . . 

I must have produced a most disastrous impres- 
sion on her with remarks of this kind. At 
last I went off with Picot; I was so com- 
pletely off my balance that all the way home 
I chatted with Picot — so as to speak of her— 
and it did my heart good when Picot said : 
That pretty, fair lady — she looked at me in 
such a way that I believe she recognized me. 
She had looked at me pretty hard the day I 
went to pump the janitor. That pretty, fair 
lady is the one, Captain, that was so good to 
the little sick girl.” 


A LOVE MATCH. 


33 


Worthy Picot, it was he to a certain extent 
who brought about our marriage. . . . 

Yes. Upon my word, he was the first to 
give me a very good report. 

And I have no report about you, and was 
beginning to love you — without any report ! 
You shall judge for yourself. 

“ Thursday , June bth. Events are following 
one another rapidly ; I wonder how it will all 
end ! I have his horse. His name is Jupiter. 
He is down in our stable between Nelly and 
George’s pony. I must try and get some order 
into my poor head. What a number of things 
have occurred to-day ! George said to me, after 
breakfast : Sis, dear, you know it is to-day we 
were to go to the photographer’s at the fair to 
have Bob’s picture taken. You can go there 
with mamma, without me. No, if you are not 
there, Bob will not sit quiet. . . . 

“ I resigned myself, off we went, and arrived 
at the photographer’s. Just as Bob was going 
to be taken, whom should I see coming into the 
booth but . . . him ! . . . and not 
alone . . . with a quite young and very 
charming lady. Who could this lady be? But 
here were her two children. They call him 
uncle — she is his sister ! . . . George could 

not get Bob to sit still ; so I was obliged to act 
a most ridiculous comedy, there, before his eyes. 

3 


34 


A LOVE MATCH. 


I must have appeared a little fool to him. I 
made speeches to Bob in English. I looked as 
if I were showing off a performing dog. I ran 
off, quite scarlet with shame and confusion. I 
came home mortified, and furious ! However, 
at five o’clock I had to go down, on account of 
the tea. 

“ Down I went. Hardly had I come in when 
Pierre brought in a card. What is that ? said 
mamma. It’s an officer, madam, a captain in 
the chasseurs. A captain in the chasseurs ! I 
know no captain in the chasseurs. I come out 
to the country to be quiet, and here I have my 
house invaded by soldiers. A colonel yester- 
day, a captain to-day — to-morrow we shall have 
the whole regiment ! What does this captain 
want ? Madam, he told me that he came about 
ahorse. Jeanne, just look at that card ; what 
is the matter with you ? how flushed you are ! 
The blood has gone to your head. I don’t 
think so, mamma. Well, look, and read it out. 
I took the card and read out : Count Roger 
de Leonelle , Captain in the 21 st Chasseurs. 
Count ! he is a count ! that is the climax. 
Leonelle, called out George, why, that’s the 
officer with the horse for Jeanne. Quite true, 
said mamma, the colonel mentioned that name 
yesterday. And papa is away. Well, we must 
receive this gentleman. Ask him in, Pierre. 


A LOVE MATCH. 


35 


Only, Jeanne, you must do the talking, for you 
know I don’t understand anything at all about 
horses.” 

“The door opened. It was he. He came in, 
bowed, and mamma, after a fairly amiable re- 
mark, which might, however, have been a little 
more cordial, said to me : Jeanne, it is about 
your horse ; just see with Mr. 

“So here we were both face to face. The 
whole burden of the conversation fell on me. 
He was charmingly graceful, full of tact and 
perfectly simple. And I was stupid, positively 
stupid ! I felt powerless, crushed, annihilated. 
I shall try to remember the terms of this con- 
versation, which must have given him such a 
pitiable impression of me. We sat there, about 
a yard from one another. Fortunately, I had 
the light on my back. The colonel spoke to 
me this morning, mademoiselle, telling me you 
were looking out for a horse. Y es, sir ; papa 
is giving it me for my birthday. Now, was 
not that stupid ! what need had I to tell him 
that ? The fact was, the words would not come 
to me, and so, in my embarrassment, I said 
anything, no matter what. He went on : I 
can place at your disposal a horse which will, I 
think, suit you perfectly. I am much obliged 
to you, sir, but the colonel said yesterday that 
you were very fond of this horse, and I do not 


36 N A LOVE MATCH. 

wish Indeed, mademoiselle, it is an ex- 

cellent horse — I should not otherwise take the 
liberty of offering him to you, but he is rather 
too slight for me ; a light weight would suit 
him better. 

“ That was a fib, for the colonel had ridden 
the horse and had found him marvellous — and to 
carry the colonel ! he is no feather-weight, the 
colonel, he is enormous ! ! 

“A light weight would suit him better. 
Was not that amiable, while remaining per- 
fectly respectful and gentlemanly in form ! I 
know what he meant was, You are delicate and 
light, you are a feather, a bird ! He added : 
Our work is sometimes very severe. The horse 
will be happier with you. Happier with you ! ! 
He said these words with a certain gentleness, 
almost tenderness. It was an indirect way of 
saying to me one cannot be otherwise than 
happy with you, the very horses even ! 

“ Can one imagine anything more ingenuous, 
more delicate ? ” 

And Jeanne, interrupting herself suddenly, 
said : 

So you were not aware of all the pretty 
things you were saying to me ? 

No. 

Did you think them, at least ? 

Yes. 


A LOVE MATCH. 


37 


That is the main point. I continue : “ And 
I, by way of thanking him, replied stiffly, Very 
well, sir, I accept ; when can I try the horse ? 
I have brought him; he is here, mademoiselle. 
I will leave him with you, you can keep him on 
trial, a week, a fortnight — as long as you please ; 
one cannot try a horse sufficiently. Oh ! sir, 
you are too obliging. I will ride the horse to- 
morrow, and papa will bring you the reply 
immediately. No, mademoiselle, I beg you, 
keep the horse at least two or three days before 
deciding. I shall not miss him at all. Very 
well, sir, I will do so. I am much obliged to 
you. He got up, bowed, and was about to 
leave the room, when suddenly mamma said : 
But, Jeanne, you are forgetting a very impor- 
tant ‘item — the price of the horse. 

“ Oh ! I love mamma — I do indeed love her. 
I love her with all my heart ; but there, for a 
quarter of a second — not more — I hated her ! 
And into the bargain, mamma was right. The 
horse was perhaps worth four or five thousand 
francs, and in that case my budget would not 
have permitted — but to have to treat with him 
this miserable, this paltry question of money, it 
shocked me ! 

“ I began to say : That is true, sir, that is 
true ; there is a question of price involved. 

“ He happily came to my rescue. 


38 


A LOVE MATCH. 


“ Oil, mademoiselle, tlie liorse is not a high- 
priced one. But papa only allows me three 
thousand francs. Three thousand franca ! 
Mademoiselle, the horse is not worth three 
thousand francs. I only paid nineteen hundred 
francs for him, and when one gets rid of a horse 
one must always be prepared not to get back 
one’s money entirely. Ah, then it was I said 
to myself : He loves me ! he loves me ! He 
wants to sell me this horse, which he adored, 
at a loss, for the simple pleasure of selling it to 
me. 

“And I replied, in my confusion: Oh! no, 
not at all; you must have a small profit. I 
shall have a very great one, mademoiselle, if I 
have the happiness of obliging you. As long as 
the horse suits you, your papa and I will easily 
agree as to the price. After which he made a 
circular bow to grandmamma, to mamma, to 
myself, to George, to Bob, to everybody. He 
was going to leave, but at the door he stopped ; 
he decidedly found it difficult to leave.” 

Yes, that is true. 

“ He said to me that he should like to give 
our coachman some explanations as to bitting 
the bridle — what suited him best. Then grand- 
mamma — grandmamma was perfect, but then 
grandmamma is not like mamma, she doesn’t de- 
test the military — she was perfect then, and 


A LOVE MATCH. 


39 


said : Let ns go down with monsieur, Jeanne ; 
we shall see the horse. Louis ought to be in 
the yard. 

u We went down, grandmamma, George, Bob, 
he, and I. There was the horse, held in hand 
by a chasseur ; and on the horse’s back I saw a 
side-saddle. The captain noticed my surprise. 
I have a side-saddle, he said to me, for my 
sister, who sometimes comes to St. Germain for a 
ride, and before coming, as I would not for the 
world have exposed you to any accident, I took 
the horse to our riding-school, and had him 
ridden side-saddle by my orderly. 

“ I took a look at the orderly ; it was the 
chasseur of the other day — the chasseur who 
was chatting with our janitor. He recog- 
nized me and I recognized him. I turned 
scarlet, and the captain, too, blushed slight- 
ly. I believe he understood that the sol- 
dier and I recognized each other. But this 
was nothing, as yet. The orderly now broke in, 
saying : The captain has ridden him side-sad- 
dle too, with the rug rolled round as a riding- 
skirt. He wished to make sure himself. 
Upon this the captain turned so red and I so 
pale that the orderly stopped, afraid of having 
made a blunder. 

“ Touched almost to tears, I stammered, 
Ah, how kind of you, sir ; how kind of you ! 


40 


A LOVE MATCH. 


* a In return he kept on repeating : It was 
quite natural, mademoiselle, it was quite natu- 
ral. 

“ And grandmamma, who is very sharp, 
looked at us with her little eyes, which are both 
tender and very piercing. 

u Luckily Louis came up. He had not been 
in the yard. George had gone to look for him. 
Then, with Louis, we had a further short con- 
versation. Here I hardly remember what was 
said. He explained that the horse must have 
a very gentle bit. I interrupted him by say- 
ing : A pelham ? He replied, No, no pel- 
ham ; a very gentle bit. He advised an ordi- 
nary snaffle or one with rings, I do not recollect. 
He was even so kind as to tell us about the 
horse’s food ; so much oats, so much straw, so 
much hay. — After which he bowed to us and 
was about to leave. I took a step toward him. 
He stopped. I wanted so much to say some- 
thing amiable, something pretty. But my emo- 
tion was strangling me ; the words would not 
come. He was waiting, and kept repeating: 
Mademoiselle, mademoiselle ; it was an in- 
tolerable situation. Something must be said, at 
any price. I could think only of this : I beg 
your pardon, sir, what is the horse’s name \ 
Jupiter, mademoiselle. Thank you, sir. . . . 

Mademoiselle. . . . He was gone, with the 


A LOVE MATCH. 


41 


chasseur carrying away the side-saddle on his 
shoulder. The soldier’s name is Picot. George 
went into the stable with Louis. I remained 
alone with grandmamma, who said to me : Jean- 
nette, just come and take a turn round the gar- 
den with me. 

“• And there, on a bench, she confessed me, did 
grandmamma, and I told her everything — every- 
thing , that is to say, nothing , for there was noth- 
ing, and yet this nothing was something. Grand- 
mamma said : Foolish child ! foolish child ! 
don’t be getting into your head — I am 
getting nothing into my head. I know very 
well that it was all chance ; yes, it was 
chance. But, please, not a word of this to 
mamma. She would laugh at me, and then 
mamma is not like you; she doesn’t like the 
military. How ! do you suppose I — I ? — Yes, 
grandmamma, you — you like them, and several 
times I have said to myself : I don’t know, but 
it seems to me that it would not be disagreeable 
to grandmamma if, by chance, I married a sol- 
dier. 

“We went in again. Here you are at 
last, said mamma ; but do explain to me what 
is going on. It appears the court-yard was full 
of soldiers. Not at all, mamma, there was 
only — that gentleman and his orderly. His 
orderly ! so you now talk barrack slang ? 


42 


A LOVE MATCH. 


Mamma, it is a word I just heard. At any 
rate, he appears an exceedingly gentlemanly 
man, said mamma ; perhaps, too, you did not 
notice, when you read his card. Look ! he is 
a count. A count ! Yes, look. No, I had not 
noticed. 

“ Is it possible to fib in a more barefaced 
manner ! Mamma was much softened down. 

“ Dear mamma is very good, but she has a 
little weakness. If I were to become a marquise 
or a countess she would be enchanted. I do 
not attach much importance to such matters. 
Most certainly that would not make me love 
anyone I did not care for. But still, it would 
not prevent me from loving.” 

You have finished ? 

Yes, and I fancy it is quite enough for one 
single day. Your turn now. 

“ Friday , June §th. I must be discreet. I 
shall not go into the forest. I shall not go to 
the terrace. I shall wait.” 

“ Friday , June §th. I rode Jupiter this 
morning, and I even fancy I did not ride him 
at all badly. He is a perfect beauty. Grand- 
mamma was still asleep when I started. On 
coming in I went into her room to bid her good 
morning. She was writing. She had not 
heard me open the door. So, wishing to sur- 
prise her, I stole up gently.” 


A LOVE MATCH. 


43 


It seems this is a habit of yours. 

“ Grandmamma was writing a letter, which 
began with these words : My Dear General / 
that was all I saw. Grandmamma hid the let- 
ter immediately. I remember, grandmamma 
knows a general who has a high position in the 
Ministry of War. I wonder, why was grand- 
mamma writing to him this morning ? And, 
above all, why did she hide her letter ? After 
dinner we spoke about the horse, to-morrow 
papa will only leave by the twelve o’clock 
train ; in the morning he will go to Mr. de 
L^onelle’s. Just then the door opened. It was 
the colonel. Naturally we again spoke of the 
horse, and of the intended visit next day. Papa 
said it put him out a little, not leaving till 
twelve, on account of his business. Don’t put 
yourself out at all, said the colonel, I will 
see Mr. de Leonelle ; I will make that right. 
As to the price, it shall be nineteen hundred 
francs. You quite understand that Mr. de Leo- 
nelle did not wish to make a matter of busi- 
ness out of it ; he saw I was acquainted with 
you ; he acted deferentially ; he has eagerly 
seized the opportunity of obliging his colonel. 
Now you might very well show him a little at- 
tention, by inviting him to dinner in about a 
fortnight. Most probably he will refuse. He 
goes nowhere, he shuts himself up of an even- 


44 


A LOVE MATCH. 


ing to work, over and above his duties, on his 
own account, for pure pleasure. 

“Things were settled on in this way. Will 
he refuse? I do not believe it. And was it 
only to oblige his colonel ? I do not think so, 
either.” 

“ Saturday, June 7 th. We were dismount- 
ing at half-past eight in the barrack-yard. 
The colonel came up to me and thanked me for 
obliging him. He thinks it is on his account 
that I consented to . . . The matter of 

price was settled in a couple of sentences, and 
the colonel added : I believe you will be in- 
vited to dinner in about a fortnight ; but do not 
be afraid, you can refuse. I told them you 
were a bear, a savage. But, Colonel ! Well, is 
it not true? You refuse every invitation. I 
shall perhaps not refuse this one, Colonel. Ah, 
ha ! as if I had not understood. You give up 
at cost price a horse that was at the very least 
worth five thousand francs, and which before 
you had declared you would not sell. H’m ! 
h’m ! the little blonde has very pretty eyes. 
Well, there ! yes, Colonel, I’ll confess to you I 
think her charming ! 

“ That escaped me ... it was the pleas- 
ure of speaking about her. ... To have 
Picot as only confidaut was a little hard ! Then 
they came to make the Saturday report to the 


A LOVE MATCH. 


45 


colonel. While the officer on duty for the 
week was giving an account of the important 
events of the preceding days : Such and such a 
mare has received a hick, such and such a private 
has failed to report at evening muster , such a 
horse has been bitten , etc. ; during this time the 
colonel kept looking at me in a quizzical way, 
while he twisted his gray mustache. After 
the report he went off, and in passing said : 
Just fancy, the young savage is becoming 
civilized and selling his horses — for love ! 

“ The colonel is an excellent man, but a hor- 
rible chatterbox. My secret will soon be the 
common property of the regiment.” 

“ Saturday , June 7 th. During the day I rode 
Jupiter. Always the same beauty. He does 
not show himself ; he is too discreet, I am sure 
of it. In the evening, after dinner, reappear- 
ance of the colonel. Mamma, when she heard 
him announced, made a slight grimace, which 
meant : What, the military again ? 

“The colonel informed us that the matter 
about Jupiter was settled for nineteen hundred 
francs. . . . And then I saw him turning 

about and manoeuvring so as to get papa to 
come out and smoke a cigar in the garden. A 
quarter of an hour passed. Mamma began to 
get impatient. What on earth can your papa 
be doing with the colonel ? He will catch cold ; 


46 


A LOVE MATCH. 


he was bareheaded. Take him out a hat and 
try to get him in again. Yes, mamma. 

“ I reached the garden. I heard these words 
pronounced by the colonel : A treasure , I tell 
you , a treasure , and then a Hush! take care! 
The conversation was changed. Oh ! this is too 
much. Can he already have asked for my hand, 
according to regulation , through his colonel ? 
Is this the way they do it in the cavalry ? It 
would be proceeding rather quickly. After 
a single interview, in which nothing was men- 
tioned but hay, straw, and oats ! The colonel 
and papa came back into the drawing-room. 
The colonel left. Papa looked thoughtful. At 
eleven o’clock, when I kissed him before going 
to my room, he took my two hands and said to 
me : You are pleased with that gentleman’s 
horse ? I replied : Oh, yes, papa. If you only 
knew, I just adore my dear Jupiter — I adore 
him ! I adore him ! 

“ I think I said that with too much energy, 
too warmly. Every instant I am afraid of be- 
traying myself. When I am speaking of his 
horse, it seems to me that I am speaking of him ! 
And the treasure ; who is the treasure , he or I ? ” 

“ Sunday , June 8th. This morning I re- 
ceived the following letter from my sister. 1 
am worn out. I have passed the last two days 
in paying forty visits. I managed to slip into 


A LOVE MATCH. 


47 


the conversation the remark : 1 Do you happen to 
know a family of the name of Labliniere ? ’ I 
obtained five or six replies . ‘ All admirable .’ 

4 Most perfect people .’ 4 A good deal of mon- 

ey , which never does any harm , but money 
earned in the most proper way? As regards 
the young girl , only one opinion : 4 She is an 
angel ! ’ So forward , Captain , if you are 
that ivay minded. I was thunderstruck ! So 
one can see that I am in love. My sister has 
noticed it. At six o’clock a short letter from 
the father. I am invited to dinner for next 
Wednesday — Wednesday the ll'th. The colo- 
nel had said: in a fortnight. Shall I answer 
immediately? No, not till to-morrow.” 

44 Sunday , June Sth. This morning I went 
down-stairs early. The postman had just 
passed. There was a bundle of letters on the 
tray in the hall. Were there any for me? No, 
but there was one for grandmamma — an official 
letter with a big red seal. On the seal I read : 
Pepubligue Frangaise , Ministere de la Guerre : 
Direction du Personnel. To think that my 
fate was there, in that letter, for I was quite 
sure of it ; she had been making inquiries. A 
servant came by and I ran off like a thief. 
Ten o’clock ! Grandmamma must be awake, she 
must have read her letter. I went up to her 
room : Ah, there you are, little one. 


48 


A LOVE MATCH. 


“Grandmamma appeared quite lively; she 
kissed me very lovingly, more lovingly even 
than usual. Oh, grandmamma is happy ! one 
can see that in the very way she kissed me this 
morning. The general’s letter has given her 
pleasure. 

“ To-day is Sunday : papa did not go to Paris. 
After breakfast grandmamma said to him : I 
want to speak to you. Strange, said I. . . . 

They both went into the smoking-room. Why 
did grandmamma go into the smoking-room ? I 
feel sure she has given paj)a the general’s letter 
to read. 

“ Grandmamma is a regular patriot. I have 
often heard her say there is no nobler pro- 
fession than the army — and that mothers are 
to blame who, from selfishness, prevent their 
daughters marrying soldiers. Grandmamma has 
a horror of men whose whole merit consists 
in killing a given number of pigeons in spring, 
and of pheasants in autumn; mamma, on the 
other hand, has a sneaking weakness for the 
young fellows wdio never exert themselves in any 
way except the aforesaid massacre of pigeons and 
pheasants. Mamma and grandmamma have con- 
tinual discussions on this subject. . At last the 
day passed by. During dinner papa said, in an 
off-hand sort of way : That young officer was 
really most obliging. I have invited him 


A LOVE MATCH. 


49 


to dinner next Wednesday. On Wednesday ! 
exclaimed mamma; why such a hurry? Are 
you going to invite all the soldiers here ? I 
admit this one is charming, but he will certainly 
bring others — our house will be a regular bar- 
rack, a camp ! ” 

“ Monday , June 9 th. I" am getting stupid. 
I took an hour, this morning, to write the eight 
short lines of my letter accepting this invitation. 
I began it over again, ten, no, twenty times, and 
hardly was my letter gone than I remembered 
that I had twice written the word pleasure in 
those eight wretched lines.” 

“ Monday , June 9 th. He has accepted. We 
were at breakfast this morning. The windows 
of the breakfast-room look out on the yard. 
Suddenly, mamma exclaimed : Well, I declare ! 
another soldier wandering about our yard ! 
I looked, and the words escaped me : Oh, it’s 
Picot ! 

“You should have just seen mamma, just 
have heard her ! Well, this is a climax ! Jeanne 
knows all these soldiers by name now ! 

u Only one, mamma, only one. It is the one 
that brought Jupiter the other day. 

“ Grandmamma burst into a fit of laughter. 
How merry grandmamma seems ! Coming down- 
stairs this morning she was singing ! What a 
good report the general must have sent her. 

4 


50 


A LOVE MATCH. 


“ After breakfast I got possession of his let- 
ter. How elegant in its simplicity ! Here 
it is, word for word. Sir : I have received 
the invitation which you have done me the 
honor of sending me for Wednesday , June 
11th. I accept it with the greatest pleasure. 
1 learn with much pleasure that your daughter 
is satisfied with the horse. Believe me , sir, 
yours , etc. 

“I am sure it ‘was purposely he repeated 
the word 'pleasure . He knew I should see 
his letter. He wished to lay a stress on that 
idea.” 

“ Tuesday , June 10 th. To-morrow I shall 
dine at her house.” 

“ Tuesday , June 10 th. To-morrow he is go- 
ing to dine here.” 

And now we come to the important day of 
the dinner. Your turn to read the account of 
the dinner. 

Listen to me, my Jeannette. Let us stop 
there for to-day. In the first place, just see what 
the time is. 

Oh ! two o’clock in the morning ! 

Yes, two in the morning ! which is already 
one good reason for stopping. But it is not the 
only one. I fancy that from now on our entries 
will be dreadfully monotonous. We shall have 
love, and again love — love the whole time ! That 


A LOVE MATCH. 


51 


is all we shall find in our diaries — in mine, at 
any rate. 

In mine too. 

And love like that of everybody else, love 
with the right of seeing one another, love with 
the right of speaking to each other. What 
merit was there, once I could be with you, in 
seeing you as you were, as you are now, the 
prettiest, the best of all women — what merit was 
there in loving you ? No, dear, what was rare 
and charming in our romance was its beginning. 
We loved one another, as it were instinctively, 
from afar, without requiring to speak or even to 
know each other. As for me, from the first I 
could read your very soul in your eyes. From 
June the 11th, the day of the dinner, to August 
17th, the day of our marriage, we exchanged 
many and many a word ; we said many tender 
and pretty things to one another, but never, my 
Jeannette, never did we have a more tender, a 
more loving conversation than that absurd 
dialogue, in the yard near the stable, before 
Jupiter and Picot. That day I was so overcome 
that I felt my fate was sealed forever. I left 
that small court-yard in the Hue des Arcades 
certain that you would be mine, and that my 
whole life would be spent in trying to make you 
happy — that will soon be two years ago. My 
love, have I succeeded up to now ? 


52 


A LOVE MATCH. 


Indeed you have, dearest ; indeed you have ! 
She was no longer on the low stool. She was 
on his knee. And, putting aside the little books, 
they read no more that evening. 


THE END. 


KING APEPI 


i. 

One evening, on liis return home from dining 
at Iris club, the Marquis de Miraval found a 
letter from his niece, Madame de Penneville, 
who wrote to him from Vichy, as follows : 

“My Dear Uncle : The waters here have 
done me a great deal of good. Until to-day I 
had every reason to be entirely satisfied with my 
cure ; .but I am afraid the good result which I 
expected will be undone by a disagreeable piece 
of news I have just received, which causes me 
more trouble and annoyance than I can well ex- 
press to you. The physicians insist that the 
first thing necessary for those who suffer from 
a chronic disorder of the liver is to keep free 
from anxiety. I create none for myself, but 
others cause me enough. My mind is tormented 
with the thought of a certain Madame Corneuil, 
for that is the woman’s name. I never heard of 


54 


KING APEPI. 


her, but I detest her without knowing her. You 
have seen a great deal of the world, and are 
somewhat inquisitive. I am convinced, my dear 
uncle, that you know all about her. Write me 
word at once who this Madame Corneuil may 
be. It is a serious question to me. The reason 
why I will explain to you some other time.” 

The Marquis de Miraval was an old diplo- 
matist, who had commenced his career under 
Louis Philippe, and had likewise filled honor- 
ably, under the empire, several second-rate po- 
sitions, which satisfied his ambition. When 
thrust aside by the revolution of September 4th, 
he bore it philosophically. Unlike his niece, he 
had no trouble with his liver. Neither that nor 
his spleen ever disturbed him in the least. He 
was in excellent health, his stomach seemed like 
iron, his gait was still firm, his sight clear, and 
he had an income of two hundred thousand 
francs, which is injurious to no one. As he al- 
ways looked on the bright side of things, he 
congratulated himself upon having reached the 
age of sixty-five without losing his hair, which 
was literally as white as snow ; but he never 
thought of dyeing it. 

As he bore no grudge to age for whitening 
his abundant chestnut locks, of which he used 
to be rather vain, so the marquis easily forgave 


KING APEPI. 


55 


the revolutions which so prematurely closed his 
career. A man has a - right to rail against his 
judge for twenty -four hours, so, after relieving 
his anger by a few well-directed epigrams, Mon- 
sieur de Miraval soon consoled himself for those 
events wliich condemned him to be of no impor- 
tance in affairs of state, but which restored him 
his independence by way of compensation. 
Liberty had always seemed to him the most 
precious of all possessions ; he considered that 
man happy who was responsible only to himself 
and could order his life as he chose. For this 
reason he decided to remain a widower, after 
having been married two years. In vain he 
was urged to marry again, answering, in the 
words of a celebrated painter, “ Would it be so 
delightful, then, on going home to find a stranger 
there ? ” 

Whether sage or egotist, the Marquis de 
Miraval had sincere affection for his niece, the 
Countess de Penneville, and he considered it his 
duty to reply to her by return of post. His 
answer was to this effect : 

“ My Dear Mathilde : I infinitely regret 
that your cure should be retarded by cares and 
worries. They are the worst of all diseases, al- 
though they kill no one. But what is the mat- 
ter, and what has Madame Corneuil to do with 


56 


KING APEPI. 


it ? What can there be between this woman, 
whom yon do not know,* and the Countess de 
Penneville? I ask for a prompt explanation. 
While awaiting this, since you desire it, I will 
tell you, as best I can, who Madame Corneuil is 
— whom, however, I have never seen ; but I am 
well acquainted with those who do know her. 

“ Can it be possible, dear Mathilde, that you 
have never heard of Madame Corneuil before 
now ? I am sorry ; it proves you are no literary 
woman ; in fact, you must be a woman who act- 
ually never reads even the Gazette des Tribu- 
naux. Do not fancy from this sentence that 
Madame Corneuil is either a poisoner or a re- 
ceiver of stolen goods, or that she has ever even 
appeared before the Court of Assizes ; but some 
seven or eight years ago she separated from 
Monsieur Corneuil, and the affair created con- 
siderable talk. Here is the whole story, as 
well as I can remember it : 

“ Monsieur Corneuil was formerly French 
Consul-General at Alexandria. He was con- 
sidered a good agent, whose only fault was that 
his manner was rather brusque. That is a slight 
failing. In the country of the ‘ Koorbash ’ one 
must know how to be brusque with both men 
and things. When an Oriental is not of your 
opinion, and sets too high a price upon his own, 
the only way to convince him is to strangle him ; 


KING APEPI. 


57 


but this has nothing to do with my subject. A 
chance, fortunate for some and unfortunate for 
others, led one Monsieur Veretz to land on the 
quays of Alexandria. He was a small business 
agent in Paris, who, not succeeding there, in 
order to escape from his creditors, came, as fast 
as his legs would bring him, to seek his fortune 
in the land of the Pharaohs. He was, it seems, 
an insignificant fellow of doubtful morality, and 
of more than equivocal reputation. Monsieur 
Veretz had a daughter, eighteen years old, 
who w^as bewitchingly pretty. How and where 
Monsieur Corneuil made her acquaintance, his- 
tory does not say ; it merely relates that this 
bear was very susceptible, and was determined 
to follow his own fancies. On first meeting 
with this beautiful child, he fell desperately in 
love with her. Fortunately for Mademoiselle 
Hortense Veretz, her mother was an excellent 
manager — a most fortunate thing for a daughter. 
After a few weeks of vain endeavor, Monsieur 
Corneuil was determined to overcome all ob- 
stacles. The Consul-General, who had a large 
fortune, persisted in marrying, for the sake of 
her beautiful eyes, a girl who possessed nothing, 
and whose father bore a blemished name ; still 
more, he married her without any contract at 
all, thereby giving her an equal share in his 
property. The matter caused great scandal. 


58 


KING APEPI. 


People flung his father-in-law at him, and openly 
brought insinuations against himself as well, so 
that he was at last obliged to give in his resig- 
nation, and left Egypt to return to Perigueux, 
his native town, in which step his beautiful 
young wife encouraged him, for she longed to 
break away forever from a father by whom she 
was so much compromised, and also to enjoy her 
new fortune in France. I remember hearing 
the whole story at the Ministry of Foreign 
Affairs, where they talked of it for a week, and 
then forgot it for something else. But the ex- 
Consul’s troubles were not ended. Four years 
later, Madame Corneuil demanded a separation. 
Her mother had accompanied her to Perigueux : 
when one is fortunate enough to have a manoeu- 
vring mother, it is best never to part with her, 
and to be guided always by her counsel. 

“ Why did Madame Corneuil separate from 
her husband? You must ask the lawyers. 
They were admirable on either side, and used 
all the resources of their eloquence. The plead- 
ing oh both sides, where epigram alternated 
with apostrophe, and apostrophe with invective, 
was a specimen of that elevated taste which 
delights the malice of the public. 

“ The details escape me. I have not the 
Gazette des Tribunaux at hand, but it does not 
matter — I am sure of my facts. Papin, the 


KING APEPI. 


59 


plaintiffs counsel, one of the first at the bar, 
protested that Monsieur Gorneuil was an ugly 
fellow, a downright blockhead ; that Madame 
Corneuil was of a most exquisite nature, an 
angelic character ; that this monster was at first 
desperately in love with this angel, but soon 
tired of her, and abused her in every way — to 
all of which Virion, the counsel for the defend- 
ant, insisted that, if his client had occasionally 
been somewhat hasty in his manner toward her, 
he was no monster, and that the sweet heart of 
this angel contained a considerable amount of 
vinegar and a great deal of calculation. lie 
tried to prove to the court that there was every 
excuse for Monsieur Corneuil’s behavior, but 
that his wife looked upon his determination to 
live in Perigueux as a crime, for she could not 
endure the place; and, since she could not per- 
suade him to change their abode to Paris, which 
she considered the only spot worthy of her 
grace and her genius, she had determined to 
devise a plan to regain her independence, and 
for that end had applied herself, with Machia- 
vellian ingenuity, to aggravate him; that she 
had made his home unbearable by the sharp- 
ness of her wit, by every kind of petty persecu- 
tion, by all those pin-prickings of which angels 
alone have the secret, and which drive to dis- 
traction even men who are not monsters ! Was 


60 


KING APEPI. 


the unfortunate man to blame for now and then 
asserting himself? I assure you again that 
both lawyers did wonderfully well. The great 
difficulty was to know which was the liar. For 
myself, I should have dismissed both. How- 
ever, the court sided with Papin. The separa- 
tion was granted, and half the fortune adjudged 
to Madame Corneuil. It seemed, however, that 
Virion was not entirely wrong, for six months 
after the verdict Madame Corneuil left for Paris 
in company with her mother. 

“ I know beforehand, my dear Mathilde, that 
you will ask me what became of the beautiful 
Madame Corneuil in Paris. I have been out 
three times this morning for the express pur- 
pose of finding out — you need not thank me, 
for I like it. Madame Corneuil has not yet 
satisfied her secret ambition ; she cannot yet 
say, ‘ I have reached it ! 7 but she is fairly on 
her way thither. The but^rfly has not entirely 
emerged from the chrysalis ; but she is patient, 
and one day will spread her wings and fly in 
triumph from her sheath. Madame Corneuil 
gives receptions and dinner-parties, and holds a 
salon. A beautiful woman with a manoeuvring 
mother and a good cook, need not fear being 
left to pine in solitude. Formerly there were 
to be seen at her house a great many literary 
men, especially those of the new school — the 


KING APEPI. 


61 


young men. Great good may it do them. 
There are among them men of talent with a 
future before them, but there, are also some 
among them whose novelties are not new, and 
whose youth is somewhat rank ; but that is no 
business of mine. It does not prevent them 
from dining at Madame Corneuil’s. She is not 
merely contented with encouraging literature, 
she also manufactures it, and employs the young 
men around her to write little paragraphs for 
the lesser journals in praise of her. Grateful 
stomachs make most excellent heralds, and at 
all events she is rich enough to pay for her own 
fame. 

“ Eighteen months after her establishment in 
Paris she published a romance, which by the 
merest accident fell into my hands. I con- 
fess I did not read it through to the end; every 
variety of courage cannot be looked for in one 
individual. It began with the description of a 
mist. At the end of ten pages — heaven be 
praised ! — the fog lifted, and a woman in an 
open carriage was visible. I remember that 
the carriage was bought of Binder; I remember 
also that the woman, whose heart was an abyss, 
wore six and a quarter in gloves, that she had 
three freckles on her right temple — just so 
many, and no more — 4 quivering nostrils, arms 
inimitably rounded, and breathless silences.’ I 


62 


KING APEPI. 


do not know if we are of the same opinion, but 
descriptions appal me, and I make my escape. 
Besides, my mind is so poorly constructed that 
I cannot see this woman whom the author has 
taken such pains to describe. Good Homer, 
who did not belong to the new school, was 
satisfied to tell me merely that Achilles was 
fair, and yet I can see him before me. But 
what is to be done ? It is the fashion of our 
day ; they call it studying — what is the word ? 
— studying the documents of humanity, and it 
seems no one ever thought of that till now, not 
even my old friend Fielding, whom I reread 
every year. I am not very fond of even serious 
pedants, but I have a holy horror of pedantry 
when applied to the merest trifles. As I am no 
longer young, I agree with Voltaire, who did 
not like to find subjects seriously discussed 
which were not even worthy of being touched 
upon. Madame Corneuil’s romance, I regret to 
say, fell flat. She strove to recover herself by 
poetry, and published a volume of sonnets, in 
which there was no allusion whatever to Mon- 
sieur Corneuil. The verses were written with a 
rapid pen, but a pen cut by an angel, and full 
of the most exquisitely sweet and refined senti- 
ments. As a general rule, the sonnets of wives 
separated from their husbands are sublime. Un- 
fortunately, there is not a great call for the sub- 


KING APEPI. 


63 


lime. It was a cruel disappointment to Madame 
Corneuil, wlio suddenly broke with her muse. 

“ All great artists, Mozart as well as Talley- 
rand, Rafaelle as well as Bismarck, have their 
different phases. Madame Corneuil thought she 
had better change hers : she reformed the whole 
style of her house, her cooking, her furniture, 
and her dress. She turned to serious things, and 
suddenly assumed a taste for neutral tints and 
sober conversations, for metaphysics and feuille- 
morte ribbons. This beautiful blonde discovered 
that she was not seen to full advantage unless in 
mezzo-tinto relief in a room full of grave people. 
She undertook to weed out her company, and 
gently closed her doors on nearly all her dan- 
dies, at any rate upon the louder sort, who hover 
about green-rooms and tell coarse stories. She 
grew disgusted with gossip, and found that re- 
spect was more desirable, even at the price of a 
little ennui . She endeavored, henceforth, to 
gather around her men of position and women 
of high character. It was difficult, but, with 
some pains and a great deal of perseverance, an 
ambitious woman who can stand being bored 
may accomplish anything. She wrote no more 
sonnets or romances, but rushed full tilt into 
works of charity. 

“ Charity, mv dear Mathilde, is at the same 
time, and according to circumstances, the most 


64 


KING APEPI. 


beautiful of all virtues or the most useful of 
occupations. You have your poor, and God 
alone knows how much you love them, how you 
care for them and cherish them ; but your left 
hand will never know what your right hand 
doeth. I do not know if Madame Corneuil has 
often seen any poor people ; but, by way of 
compensation, she goes and comes, and agitates 
and schemes, and preaches. She is on six com- 
mittees and twelve subcommittees ; she is an in- 
comparable beggar, a very expert cashier, an ex- 
perienced treasurer, and accomplished vice-presi- 
dent. Yes, my dear, they say no one can preside 
better than she. It is the very best way to push 
one’s self into society. I must add that, although 
she composes poetry no longer, she has not given 
up prose. She has written an eloquent treatise 
on ‘The Apostleship of Woman,’ which is sold 
for the benefit of a new hospital, and has reached 
its fifth edition. The sonnets were sublime, but 
the treatise is more than sublime. It is a mixt- 
ure of the tenderness of Saint Francois de Sales 
and the spirituality of Saint Theresa. Never 
has the sugar-plum been held so high out of the 
reach of our poor humanity — it is not even in 
the air which we can breathe, but in pure ether. 
I am curious to know what Monsieur Corneuil 
and Perigueux think of it. The young fellow 
who furnished me with all these details spoke 


KING APEPI. 


65 


in rather a satirical manner ; I asked him why, 
and he continued : 1 That few really knew her 
well. My opinion,’ he said, ‘is, that she is a 
cool, calculating woman ; that she is determined 
to have a position, and to satisfy her ambition 
by fair means or foul. She aspires to become a 
leader, to have a hand in politics, and her dream 
is to marry some great name, or else a deputy.’ 
The young fellow said all this with a little 
bitterness. I learned that for nearly a year he 
has neither dined nor set foot in Madame Cor- 
neuil’s house. Montesquieu used to say, ‘ Father 
Tournemine and I have quarrelled, so when we 
talk of one another you must believe neither.’ 
Thus I only believe half of what the young man 
says. 

“ This is all the information I can give you, 
my dear Mathilde ; tell me what you want with 
it ? Your old uncle embraces you tenderly. 

. “ P. S. — I open my letter to say that as I was 
going to put it in the box on my way to dinner, 
by the grace of heaven I came upon the lawyer 
Papin at the corner of the Rue Choiseul. It 
was his eloquence that gained the case for the 
amiable lady whom you seem, heaven knows 
why, to have taken a grudge against. I asked 
him for still further information. Madame 
Corneuil has changed her style again, and I be- 
gin to think she changes too often. I am afraid 


66 


KIJSTG APEPI. 


she has not that concentrated mind or that per- 
sistence which is necessary for great enterprises. 
I have my doubts of these impulsive creatures 
who proceed by fits and starts. At my very 
first words, Papin bridled up and straightened 
himself, after the manner of lawyers, as if he 
bore the weight of the universe on his shoul- 
ders, and broadened them lest it should fall. 
He exclaimed, as if he were apostrophizing 
a judge : ‘ Monsieur le Marquis, that woman 
is simply a marvel of Christian virtue. She 
heard eighteen months ago that her husband 
had a dangerous attack of the lungs. What 
did she do ? Forgetting her own wrongs and 
her justifiable resentment, she rushed to him in 
Perigueux, and has become reconciled to him. 
Monsieur Corneuil was advised to go to Egypt ; 
she left everything to accompany him, to be- 
come the nurse of a brute whose harshness had 
endangered her own life. Was I not right in 
affirming in court that Madame Corneuil was 
an angel ? ’ ‘ There is no need of getting ex- 

cited,’ said I to him ; 1 I admire her fine charac- 
ter as well as you, but might it not be that, 
after having obtained, thanks to you, half the 
fortune, this angel proposes to secure the other 
half as her inheritance ? ’ 

“ He made a gesture of indignation, straight- 
ened himself again — 1 Ah ! Monsieur le Mar- 


KING APEPI. 


67 


quis,’ answered he, 4 yon never believed in wom- 
en ; you are a horrible sceptic.’ I looked at 
him, he looked at me ; I laughed, and he began 
to laugh. I think we must have resembled Cic- 
ero’s augurs. 

“ The good of it all, my dear Mathilde, is, 
that you have no further need of explaining 
yourself to me. Listen. This is just what has 
happened,: Your son Horace, an Egyptologist 
of great promise, who does me the honor of be- 
ing my great-nephew, has been in Egypt for 
two years. There he has met a lovely blonde, 
and for the first time his heart has spoken ; he 
could not keep from writing to you about it, 
hence his letters are filled with Madame Cor- 
neuil, and your maternal anxiety is aroused. 
Am I not right ? For shame ! you are ungrate- 
ful toward Providence. You have reproached 
your son a thousand times with being too sober, 
too serious, too much given to study ; scorning 
society, women, gayety, and business ; cherish- 
ing no other dream but that of some day com- 
posing a large book which will reveal to the 
astonished universe the ancient secrets of four 
thousand years. You flattered yourself that 
you might see him either in the Chamber of 
Deputies, the Council of State, or the diplo- 
matic service ; his refusal made you wretched. 
From his earliest infancy he cried to be taken 


68 


KING APEPI. 


to the Egyptian Museum at the Louvre, and 
could have told you with his eyes closed what 
was in Cabinet K, and Case Q, in the room of 
sacred antiquities. It is no fault of mine. I 
did not make him. This truly extraordinary 
youth never loved anyone but the goddess Isis, 
wife of Osiris. He was never interested in any 
events but such as took place under Sesostris 
the Great. The most heated discussions of our 
deputies and the most eloquent words they 
might utter always seemed tame to him in com- 
parison with the story of the Pharaohs. He 
liked, better than any amusement you could 
offer him, a papyrus mounted on linen or paste- 
board, a mummy’s mask, a hawk, symbol of the 
soul, or a pretty gold scarab ceus, emblem of 
immortality. 

“ I speak knowingly, for he honored me with 
his confidence. I shall not easily forget the 
last time I saw him ; I found him shut up with 
a hieroglyphic inscription arranged backward 
in columns, and ornamented with drawings of 
faces. He seemed much annoyed at being in- 
terrupted in this enchanting tete-a-tete. At the 
head of the manuscript was a man with a yel- 
low face, hair painted blue, and his forehead 
ornamented with a lotos-bud and a great white 
cone. I touched one of the columns and said 
to the dear child, ‘ Great decipherer, what may 


KING APEPI. 


69 


this conundrum mean ? ’ He answered, with- 
out taking offence : ‘ My dear uncle, this conun- 
drum, which, by your leave, is very plain, is of 
the greatest importance, and signifies that the 
keeper of the fiocks of Ammon, Amen-Heb, the 
ever-truthf ul, and his wife, who loves him, Amen- 
Apt, the ever-truthful, render homage to Osiris, 
dwelling in the land of the West, ruler of times 
and seasons, to Ptah-Sokari, ruler of the tomb, 
and to the great Turn, \tho made the heavens 
and created all the essences coming out of the 
earth.’ I listened to him with so much interest 
that the next day he thought to confer a great 
favor upon me by sending me the entire history 
of Amen-Heb written out. I read it once every 
year, on his birthday. Can anyone accuse me 
of neglecting my duty as a great-uncle ? 

“ Do not deny, my dear, that this mania made 
you desperate. Then why do you complain ? 
Your son is half saved already. Heaven has 
sent Madame Corneuil to him. She will teach 
him a great many things of which he is igno- 
rant, and lead him to unlearn a great deal else. 
In her beautiful eyes he will forget Amenophis 
III. of the eighteenth dynasty, Amen-Apt the 
ever-truthful, and the man with the great white 
cone. Do not grudge him his tardy enjoyment, 
to say nothing about charity toward a sick 
man’s nurse. Everything is going on well, my 


70 


KING APEPI. 


dear Mathilde. Write me word that, on further 
reflection, you agree with me.” 

The next day but one, the Marquis de Mira- 
val received the following short reply from his 
niece : 

“My Dear Uncle: Your letter and the in- 
formation you have been so kind as to gather 
for me have only doubled my anxiety. Ma- 
dame Corneuil is an intriguer. Why must 
Horace be caught in her toils? Since I lost my 
husband, you have been my only counsellor and 
my first resort'. Never did I need your assist- 
ance more. It is cruel to tear you away from 
your dear Paris, but I know your kind feelings 
on my behalf, your care for the interests of our 
family, and your almost fatherly love for my 
poor silly Horace. I implore you to come to 
Yichy, that we may consult together. I sum- 
mon you, and shall expect you.” 

Madame de Penneville was right in thinking 
it would be hard for her uncle to leave Paris ; 
since he had given up diplomacy, he could 
not endure any other spot. In the hottest 
months of summer, when everyone goes away, 
he never dreamed of leaving. He preferred to 
the most beautiful pine-trees, the tiny-leaved 
elms which he saw from the terrace of his club, 


KING APEPI. 


71 


where he spent the greater part of his days and 
even of his nights. Nevertheless, this egotist 
or philosopher always had at heart the interests 
of his nephew, whom he intended to make his 
heir ; and, besides, he was very curious about it 
all, and did not conceal it. With a sigh he or- 
dered his valet to pack his trunks, and that very 
evening left for Vichy. 

Informed by telegraph of his intention, Ma- 
dame de Penneville was waiting for him at the 
station. She rushed toward him as soon as he 
appeared, saying : “ Fancy — that woman is a 
widow, and he really means to marry her ! 77 

“ Poor mother ! 77 exclaimed the marquis, 
“ I agree with you, that things are getting seri- 
ous . 77 


II. 

Monsieur de Miraval was not mistaken in 
his surmises ; things had gone on much as he 
had imagined. Count Horace de Penneville. 
had made the acquaintance of a beautiful 
blonde at Cairo, and, for the first time, his heart 
was touched. They met at the New Hotel ; 
from the very first Madame Corneuil took pains 
to attract the attention and thoughts of the 
young man. Monsieur Corneuil seemed to 
rally somewhat, and they profited by his im- 


72 


KING APEPT. 


provement to visit together the museum at Bou- 
lak, the subterranean ruins of the Serapeum, 
the pyramids of Gizeh and of Sakkarah. Hor- 
ace took upon himself the office of cicerone in 
good earnest, and made it both his business and 
pleasure to explain Egypt to Madame Corneuil, 
and Madame Corneuil listened to all his expla- 
nations with great seriousness and interested at- 
tention, occasionally mingled with a mild ec- 
stasy. She seemed rapt and intent, a dull flame 
glowed in the depths of her eyes ; she possessed 
in perfection the art of listening with them. 
She found no difficulty in admitting that Moses 
lived in the reign of Bameses II. ; she seemed 
delighted to learn that the second dynasty lasted 
three hundred years ; that Menes was a native 
of Thinis ; and that the great pyramid was 
built gradually by Ka-kau, the Kaiechos of 
Manetho, by whom was founded the worship of 
the ox Apis, the living manifestation of the god 
Ptah. She felt all the enthusiasm of a novice 
initiated into the sacred mysteries of Egyptian 
chronology, declared that it was the most de- 
lightful of all sciences and the most charming of 
pastimes, and vowed that she would learn to 
read hieroglyphics. 

The dmoument took place during a visit to 
the tomb of Ti, by the reddish glare of torches. 
They were examining, in a sort of ecstasy, the 


KING APEPI. 


73 


pictures graven on the walls of each of the fu- 
nereal chambers. One of them represented a 
hunter seated in a bark in the midst of a marsh, 
in which hippopotami and crocodiles were swim- 
ming. As they were bending over the croco- 
diles, Madame Corneuil, absorbed in her revery, 
grew more than usually expansive. The young 
man was touched with a totally new sensation. 
She left the tomb first. On joining her with- 
out, he became dazzled, and suddenly discovered 
that she had the bearing of a queen, hazel eyes, 
and the most wonderful hair in the world, that 
she was beautiful as a dream, and that he was 
wildly in love with her. 

A few weeks later, Monsieur Corneuil de- 
parted this life, leaving his entire fortune to his 
wife, who, to speak the truth, had nursed him 
with heroic patience. The evening before her 
embarkation with a leaden coffin for Perigueux, 
Horace begged the favor of a moment’s inter- 
view by night under the starry skies of Egypt, 
in a delicious atmosphere, wherein flitted the 
great vague ghosts of the Pharaohs : he then 
confessed his passion to her, and strove to make 
her engage herself to him before the year was 
over. Then did he still further learn all the 
delicacy of her refined soul. She reproached 
him with downcast eyes for the eagerness of his 
love, and said that she could not think of thus 


74 


KING APEPI. 


mingling tlie rose and cypress, and thoughts of 
love with long crape veils. But she would per- 
mit him to write to her, and promised to reply 
in six months. On parting, she gave him a de- 
mure smile of encouragement. 

He then ascended the Nile again, reached Up- 
per Egypt, glad to pass his months of waiting 
in the solitude of the Thebaid, where the days 
are more than twenty -four hours in length * they 
could not be too long for him to decipher hiero- 
glyphics while thinking of Madame Corneuil. 
Crocodiles will play a conspicuous part in this 
story : Horace was at Keri, or Crocodilopolis, 
when he received an exquisitely written and 
, perfumed note, telling him that the adored be- 
ing was passing the summer with her mother on 
the borders of Lake Leman, in a pension not 
far from Lausanne, and that, if Count de Penne- 
ville should make his appearance, he need not 
knock twice for the door to open. He left like 
an arrow, and went straight to Lausanne. He 
had written a letter of twelve pages to Madame 
de Penneville, in which he told her of his good 
fortune with such effusion of tenderness and of 
joy as might well have made her despair. 

Both uncle and niece spent all their evening 
in talking, deliberating, and discussing, as gen- 
erally happens in l*ke cases. The same things 
were repeated twenty times; it is no help, but 


KING APEPI. 


75 


a great comfort. Monsieur de Miraval, who 
seldom took things tragically, set himself to con- 
sole the countess ; but she was inconsolable. 

“ How, in good faith,” said she, “ could you 
expect me coolly to contemplate the prospect of 
having for a daughter-in-law a girl sprung from 
no one knows where ; the daughter of a man of 
ruined reputation, who married an insignificant 
man, and separated from him that she might 
have her own way in Paris ; a wopian whose 
name has been dragged through the Gazette des 
Tribunaux / a, woman who writes descriptions 
of mists, who composes sonnets, and who, I am 
sure, is far from scrupulous ? ” 

“I do not know about that,” answered the 
marquis, “ but it has been said long ago that 
the most dangerous creatures in the world are 
the women 4 d sonnets ,’ and the serpents 4 d son - 
nettes .’ I will wager, however, that this woman 
is a manoeuvre^ and that it is a very disagree- 
able business.” 

“ Horace, wretched Horace ! ” exclaimed the 
countess, “ what grief you cause me ! — The dear 
fellow has a most noble and generous heart ; un- 
fortunately, he never had any common sense ; 
but how could I expect this ! ” 

“ Alas ! you had every reason to expect just 
this,” interrupted the marquis. u Such preco- 
cious wisdom cannot be sufficiently mistrusted ; 


76 


KING APEPI. 


it always ends in some calamity. I have told 
you a hundred times, my dear Mathilde, that 
your son gave me considerable uneasiness, and 
that some unfortunate surprise was preparing 
for us. We are all born with a certain amount 
of nonsense in us, which we must get rid of ; 
happy are those who exhaust it in youth ! 
Horace kept it all till he was twenty-eight 
years old, capital and interest, and this is the re- 
sult of his economy. Many little follies save 
from greater ones ; when a man only commits 
Dne, it is almost always enormous, and generally 
irreparable.” 

Madame de Penneville handed the marquis a 
cup of tea, sweetened by her white hand, and 
said to him, in most caressing tones : “ My dear 
uncle, you alone can save us.” 

“ In what way % ” asked he. 

“ Horace has so much regard, so much respect 
for you. You have always had so much au- 
thority over him.” 

“ Bah ! we no longer live under the regime 
of authority.” 

“ But, then, you have always allowed him to 
look upon himself as your heir ; that gives you 
a certain right, it seems to me.” 

“Come, now! Young men who live in the 
clouds, like your son, can easily give up an in- 
heritance. What is an income of a hundred 


KING APEPI. 


77 


thousand francs compared with a pretty scar- 
abseus, the emblem of immortality ? ” 

“ My dear; dear uncle, I am persuaded that, 
if you would consent to go to Lausanne ” 

The marquis jumped from his seat. “Good 
heavens ! ” said he. “ Lausanne is a long way 
off.” And he heaved a sigh, as his thoughts 
turned to the terrace at his club. 

“ Only accept this task, and I will be eternally 
grateful. You can make the boy listen to rea- 
son.” 

“ My dear Mathilde, once in a while I read 
over my Latin poets. I know one of them says 
that madness is allied to love, and that to talk 
reason to a lover is as absurd as to ask him 
to rave with moderation, 1 ut cum ratione in- 
saniat ” 

“ Horace has a heart. You’ must represent 
to him that this marriage will drive me to 
despair.” 

“ He suspects as much, my dear, since he did 
not dare to come and greet you on his arrival 
from Egypt, and you may be sure he will not 
come until you give your consent. A man loves 
and respects his mother in vain when he is really 
on fire, and Horace is certainly that. Heavens ! 
his letter proves it. So feverish is the prose 
that it almost burns the paper.” 

Madame de Penneville drew near the marquis, 


78 


KING APEPI. 


tenderly stroking his white hair, and putting 
her arms about his neck, said : “ You are so 
shrewd; you have so much tact. I have been 
told that very difficult missions were intrusted 
to you in the past, and that you acquitted your- 
self gloriously.” 

“ O thou cunning one, it is far easier to nego- 
tiate with a government than to treat with a 
lover in the toils of a manoeuvrer.” 

“ You can never make me believe that any- 
thing is impossible to you.” 

“ You are resolved to draw me in,” said he to 
her. “ Well, so be it; the enterprise deserves 
to be attempted. But have you replied yet to 
the formidable letter which you have just read 
to me ? ” 

“ I would do nothing without consulting you.” 

“ So much the better ; nothing is compromised ; 
the affair is as yet intact. I will let you know 
to-morrow if I decide to go to Lausanne.” 

The countess thanked Monsieur de Miraval 
warmly. She thanked him still more warmly 
the next day when he announced to her that he 
would do as she wished, and asked her to take 
him to the station. She accompanied him, for 
fear he might repent, and said to him on the 
way: “This is a journey for all mothers to 
glory over; but, will you be kind enough to 
write to me often from there ? ” 


KING APEPI. 


79 


“ Oh, certainly,” answered he, “ but only upon 
one condition.” 

“ What may that be ? ” 

“That you do not believe one single word 
that I write to you.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ I must also request you,” continued he, “ to 
answer me as if you really did believe me, and 
to send my letters to Horace, begging him to 
keep them to himself.” 

“ I understand you less and less.” 

“ What can be beyond the comprehension of 
a woman ? Open letters are the depths of 
diplomacy. After all, it is not necessary that 
you should understand ; the essential thing is 
that you obey my instructions scrupulously. 
Good-by, my dear ; I am going to where heaven 
and your purrings have sent me. If I do not 
succeed, it will prove that our friends the Re- 
publicans were quite right in shelving me.” 

Having thus spoken, he kissed his niece, and 
stepped into the railway-carriage. He reached 
Lausanne twenty-four hours later. The -first 
thing which he did after engaging a room at the 
Hotel Gibbon was to supply himself with a com- 
plete fishing-outfit. After that, tired with his 
journey, he slept six hours. Upon waking, he 
dined ; after dining, he took a carriage to the 
“ Pension Vallaud,” situated twenty minutes’ 


80 


KING APEri. 


walk from Lausanne, upon the brow of one of 
the most beautiful hills in the world. This 
charming villa, recently converted into an hotel, 
consisted of a large house in which the Count de 
Penneville had an apal-tment, and a lovely de- 
tached chalet which was occupied by Madame 
Corneuil and her mother. The chalet and the 
house were separated, or, if it sounds better, 
united by a large and shady park, which Hor- 
ace crossed many times a day, saying to himself, 
“ When shall we live under the same roof ? ” 
But people have to learn how to wait for happi- 
ness. 

At that very moment Horace was working, 
pen in hand, at his great “ History of the Hyk- 
sos, or Shepherd Kings, or the Unclean ” — that 
is to say, of those terrible Canaanitish hordes 
who, two thousand years before the Christian 
era, disturbed in their camps by the Elamite 
invasions of. the Kings Chodornakhounta and 
Chodormabog, swept in their turn over the 
valley of the Nile, set it on fire, and drenched it 
in blood, and for more than five centuries occu- 
pied both the centre and the north of Egypt. 
Full of learning, and rich in fresh documents 
collected by him with very great pains, he under- 
took to show, on unquestionable testimony, that 
the Pharaoh under whom Joseph became minis- 
ter was indeed Apophis or Apepi, King of the 


KING APEPI. 


81 


Hyksos, and he flattered himself that he could 
prove it so clearly that henceforth it would be 
impossible for the most critical minds to contra- 
dict it. A few months previously he had sent 
the first chapters of his history from Cairo to 
Paris, and they were read at the Institute. His 
thesis shocked one or two Egyptologists, others 
thought there was some reason in it, while one 
of them wrote to him thus, “ Your debut is 
promising. Made animo generose puer” 

Wrapped in a sort of burnous of white woollen 
stuff, his neck bare, and his hair disordered, he 
was leaning over a round table, before a writing- 
desk surmounted by a sphinx. His face wore 
the expression of a contented mind and a per- 
fectly serene conscience. On the table a beauti- 
ful purple rose, almost black, was unfolding its 
petals ; he had put it into a glass, into which a 
blue porcelain statuette, representing an Egyp- 
tian goddess with a, cat’s face, plunged her im- 
pertinent nose into the water without unbending 
her brow. Horace seemed by turns contemplat- 
ing this very nose and also the flower which 
Madame Corneuil had gathered for him less 
than an hour before ; at times also, turning his 
eye toward the large open window, he saw that 
the moon, at its full, cast along the shimmering 
waters of the lake a long train of silver spangles. 
But, by a fortunate condition of things, he was 


82 


KING APEPI. 


also wholly absorbed in his work ; he was not in 
the least distracted from it ; he belonged to the 
Hyksos. The moon, the rose, Madame Corneuil, 
the cat-headed divinity, the sphinx on the writ- 
ing-desk, the Unclean, and King Apepi — were 
all blended together and become one in his in- 
most thoughts. The blessed in paradise see all 
in God, and can thus think of all things without 
losing for one moment their great idea, which is 
infinite. Count Horace was at the same moment 
at Lausanne in the neighborhood of the woman 
whose image was never out of his mind, and in 
Egypt two thousand years before Christ, and 
his happiness was as complete as his application 
to his studies. 

He had just finished this phrase : “ Consider 
the sculptures of the period of the Shepherd 
kings; examine carefully and impartially their 
angular faces, with their prominent cheek-bones ; 
and, if you are unprejudiced, you will agree 
that the race to which the Hyksos belong could 
not have been purely Semitic, but must have 
been strongly mixed with the Turanian ele- 
ment.” 

Satisfied with this ending, he stopped for a 
second, laid down his pen, and, drawing the 
purple rose nearer to him, pressed it to his lips. 
Hearing a knock at the door, he quickly re- 
turned the rose to its vase, and in a tone of 


KING APEPI. 


83 


vexation exclaimed, “ Come in ! ” The door 
opened. Monsieur de Miraval entered. Hor- 
ace’s face grew dark; the unexpected appari- 
tion dismayed him ; he felt as if he had been 
suddenly shut out of his paradise. Alas ! the 
happiest of lives is only an intermittent paradise! 

The marquis, standing on the threshold, 
bowed gravely to his nephew, saying : u What ! 
am I disturbing you ? You never knew how to 
conceal your feelings.” 

“ My dear uncle,” answered he, “ how can 
you think such a thing ? I was not expecting 
you, that I must confess. But pray, what has 
brought you here ? ” 

“ I am travelling in Switzerland. Could I 
pass through Lausanne without coming to see 
you ? ” 

“ Confess, uncle, that you were not passing 
through,” answered Horace ; “ own that you 
are more than a passer-by — that you came here 
on purpose.” 

“ You are right, I did come on purpose, my 
boy,” answered Monsieur de Miraval. 

“ Then I have the honor of dealing with an 
ambassador ? ” 

“ Yes, an ambassador, most strict in etiquette, 
who insists upon being received with all the re- 
spect due to him, and according to the rules se- 
curing the rights of men in his position.” 


84 


KING APEPI. 


Horace had recovered from his vexation ; he 
had recourse to philosophy, and put a good face 
on a bad business. Offering a chair to the 
marquis, he said : “ Be seated, my lord ambas- 
sador, in the very best of my easy-chairs. But, 
to begin with, let us embrace one another, my 
dear uncle. If I am not mistaken, it is fully 
two years since we have had the pleasure of 
seeing one another. What can I offer to enter- 
tain you ? I think I remember that iced cham- 
pagne used to be your favorite drink. Do not 
think you are in a barbarous country ; anything 
one wishes is to be had ; you shall be gratified 
at once.” 

With these words he pulled a bell, and a ser- 
vant appeared. He gave him his orders, which 
were immediately carried out, although slowly. 
Nevertheless, Monsieur de Miraval looked at 
his nephew with a satisfaction mingled with se- 
cret vexation. It seemed to him that the hand- 
some fellow had grown still handsomer. His 
short beard was beautifully black ; his features, 
formerly rather weak, had gained strength, 
firmness, and emphasis ; his grayish-blue eyes 
had grown larger, his complexion was sunburnt 
and tanned to a tint which became him greatly ; 
his smile, full of sweetness and mystery, was 
charming — it was like that undefinable smile 
which the Egyptian sculptors, whose genius 


KING APEPI. 


85 


Greece could hardly surpass, carved upon the 
lips of their statues. The sphinxes in the 
Louvre would have recognized Horace from his 
family resemblance, and have claimed him as a 
relation. It is easy to acquire the complexion 
of the country in which one is living, and a face 
often grows to resemble the thing one most 
loves. 

“ Fool of fools ! ” thought the marquis, an- 
grily ; “ you have the proudest bearing, the 
finest head in the world, and you do not know 
how to put them to a better use. Ah ! if at 
your age I had had such eyes and such a smile, 
what would I not have done with them ! No 
woman could have resisted me ; but you — what 
can you say for yourself wdien Providence calls 
you to account for all the gifts he has bestowed 
upon you? You will have to say, ‘I profited 
by them to marry Madame Corneuil.’ All ! 
c You fool ! ’ will be the answer, 4 you foolishly 
began where others ended.’ ” 

Horace was far from guessing Monsieur de 
Miraval’s secret thoughts. After the disagree- 
able emotion of the first meeting was over, his 
natural feeling returned, which was that of 
pleasure at again seeing his uncle, for he loved 
him well. In truth, it was in his capacity of 
ambassador that he disliked him, and he resolved 
not to spare him, for, when the will is fixed, ob- 


86 


KING APEPI. 


jections are less apt to be dreaded, for one knows 
beforehand how they may all be answered. So 
he awaited the advance of the enemy with firm 
step, and, as the enemy was drinking cham- 
pagne, and evidently in no hurry to commence 
hostilities, he marched up to meet him. 

“ First, dear uncle,” said he to him, “ give me 
whatever news you can of my mother at once.” 

“ I wish I had something good to tell you 
about her,” answered the marquis. “ But you 
know we are anxious about her health, and you 
must be aware that the letter which she received 
from you ” 

“ Did my letter trouble her ? ” 

“ Could you doubt it ? ” 

“ I love my mother dearly,” answered Horace 
quickly, “ but I have always considered her to 
be a most reasonable woman. Evidently I did 
not go to work aright ; I will send her another 
letter to-morrow, and try to reconcile her to my 
happiness.” 

“ If you think as I do, you will not write 
again ; one evil never undoes another. Your 
mother assuredly wishes you to be happy, but 
the extravagant proposition which you con- 
fided to her — does the word ‘ extravagant ’ 
hurt you ? I withdraw it ; I meant to say the 
somewhat singular — well, I withdraw the word 
■ singular ’ also. But it is often used in that 


KING APEPI. 


87 


sense in the Chamber of Deputies, and you must 
not hold yourself higher than a deputy. Well 
then, this proposition, which is neither extrava- 
gant nor singular, disturbs your mother greatly, 
and you will not be able to overcome her ob- 
jections to it. ” 

“ Has she authorized you to make them known 
to me ? ” 

“ Must I. then, present my credentials ? ” 

“ That is quite unnecessary, uncle. Say 
frankly whatever you please — or rather, if you 
are fortified by good arguments say nothing at 
all, for I warn you that you will spend all your 
eloquence for naught, and I know you never 
care to waste your words.” 

“ But you may as well resign yourself to 
listen to me. You cannot suppose that I have 
come a hundred leagues at full gallop for 
nothing. My speech is ready, and you must sub- 
mit to it.” 

“ Till morning dawns, if needs be,” answered 
Hoi ^ace ; “ the night shall be devoted to you.” 

“ Thanks. And now let us begin at the be- 
ginning. That which has just taken place has 
not only grieved me much, but cruelly humili- 
ated me. I flattered myself that I understood 
human nature somewhat, and was quite proud of 
my knowledge. Now, I must confess, to my 
own confusion, that I am entirely mistaken in 


88 


KING APEPI. 


you. What, my son ! can it be that you — 
whom I considered the most sensible, serious, 
sober fellow in the world — can think of thus 
suddenly striking dismay into the bosom of 

your family by a determination ” 

“ Extravagant and singular,” interrupted 
Horace. 

“ I said I would withdraw both of those 
words; but, I ask you, does not this project of 
marriage seem a headstrong thing ? ” 

“ Must I answer your proposition by propo- 
sition ? ” exclaimed he, u or would you rather 
give me your whole speech in one breath ? ” 

“ No, that would tire me too much. Answer 
as I go along.” 

“ Well, dear uncle, let me tell you that you 
are not at all mistaken in your ideas of me, and 
that this headstrong act is the most sensible and 
prudent thing with which my good genius ever 
inspired me — an act which both my heart and 
reason approve.” 

“ Then you forbid my surprise that the heir 
to a good name and large fortune, a Count de 
Penneville, who could choose in his own rank, 
among fifty young girls really worthy of him, 
refuses everyone whom his mother proposes, and 
suddenly changes his mind to marry — whom? 
A — Madame — what is her name, Horace? I 
never can remember the name.” 


KING APEPI. 


89 


u Her name is Madame Comeuil, at your ser- 
vice,” answered Horace, in a piqued tone. “ I 
am sorry if her name displeases you, but spare 
yourself the trouble of fixing it in your memory. 
Two months hence you can call her Countess 
Hortense de Penneville.” 

“ The deuce ! how fast you go ! But it is 
not yet settled.” 

“ We have exchanged vows, uncle. You may 
as well consider it so, for I defy you to undo 
it.” 

Monsieur de Miraval filled and emptied his 
glass anew, then began again. “ Do not get ex- 
cited, or lose your temper. I would not offend 
you for anything, but I am so astonished, so 
surprised. Tell me, what is that blue porcelain 
statuette, with a halo round her head, with such 
a slender figure, and the face of a cat, holding a 
queer sort of guitar in her right hand ? ” 

“ That is no guitar, uncle ; it is a sistrum, a 
symbol of the harmony of the universe. Do you 
not recognize the statuette to be that of the god- 
dess Sekhet, the Bubastis of the Greek authors, 
whom they call the great lover of Ptah, a divin- 
ity by turns beneficent and revengeful, who, ac- 
cording to all appearance, represents th'e solar 
radiation in its twofold office ? ” 

“ I beg a thousand pardons, I believe I do re- 
member her, and that rose which she seems to 


90 


KING APEPI. 


smell at somewhat suspiciously — ah ! I think I 
need not ask whence that rose comes.” 

“ Well, yes ! it was given me by the woman 
whose name you cannot possibly remember.” 

“ But, excuse me — I do know the name 
quite well — Madame Corneuil — is it not Cor- 
neuil ? My gentle friend, does it not seem to 
you that the goddess Sekhet or Bubastis, who 
represents the solar radiation, fastens her angry 
glances blazing with indignation upon that pur- 
ple rose, and curses the rival whom you inso- 
lently prefer to her? Take care — roses fade; 
both roses and their donors live only for a day, 
while the goddesses are immortal and their an- 
ger also.” 

“ Reassure yourself, uncle,” answered Horace, 
with a smile. “ The goddess Sekhet looks with 
gentle eyes upon that flower. If you should 
ask her, she would say : 4 The fifty heiresses 
whom you have proposed for Count de Penne- 
ville are all or nearly all but foolish creatures, 
with narrow and frivolous minds, caring only 
for gewgaws and trifles ; therefore I approve 
him decidedly for having disdained these dolls, 
and for wishing to marry a woman who has few 
equals, whose intelligence is as remarkable as 
her heart is loving ; a woman who adores Egypt 
and who longs to return thither ; a woman who 
will not only be the sweetest companion to your 


KING APEPI. 


91 


nephew, but will also be passionately interested 
in his labors, will aid him by her counsel, and 
be the confidante of all his thoughts.’ ” 

“ And will deserve to become a member of 
the Institute like him,” interrupted Monsieur de 
Miraval. “ How charming it will be to see you 
enter it arm-in-arm ! Horace, I abandon all 
idea of treating you to the end of my speech. 
Only permit me to ask you a question or two. 
Where did this incomprehensible accident take 
place ? Oh ! I remember — your mother • told 
me that it was in a grotto at Memphis.” 

My mother was not very prudent,” an- 
swered Horace ; “ but let that pass ! It was in 
the depths of a grotto. We call it a hypo- 
geum.” 

“ Confound the hypogeum ! My ideas are 
getting confused. I remember it was in the 
tomb of King Ti.” 

“ Ti was not a king, uncle,” answered Horace, 
in a tone of mild indulgence. “ Ti was one of 
the great feudal lords, one of the barons of 
some ruler of the fourth dynasty, which held 
sway for two hundred and eighty-four years, 
or perhaps of the fifth, which was also Mem- 
phite.” 

“ Heaven keep me from denying it ! So you 
were in the tomb ? Inspired by love, Madame 
Corneuil fluently deciphered a hieroglyphic in- 


92 


KING APEPI. 


scription, and, touched by the beautiful miracle, 
you fell at her feet.” 

“ Such miracles do not come to pass, uncle. 
Madame Corneuil does not yet know how to 
read hieroglyphics, but she will read them some 
day.” 

“ And is that why you love her, unhappy 
youth ? ” 

“ I love her,” exclaimed Horace, ardently, 
“ because she is wonderfully beautiful, because 
she is adorable, because she has every grace, and 
beside her every other woman seems ugly. 
Yes, I love her — I have given her my heart and 
my life forever ! So much the worse for those 
who do not understand me.” 

“ So it may be,” answered the uncle ; u but 
your mother has made inquiries, and evil 
tongues say that ” 

“ Enough ! ” replied Horace, raising his voice. 
“ If anyone but you ventured to make such in- 
nuendoes against a woman for whom my respect 
equals my love, a woman worthy of all esteem, 
he should either have my life or I his ! ” 

“ You know that I could not have the slight- 
est desire to fight with my only heir — what 
would become of the property ? Since you say 
so, I will be convinced that Madame Corneuil 
is a person absolutely above reproach. But 
where in the world did your mother pick up 


KING APEPI. 


93 


her information ! She says plainly that she is 
an ambitious manceuvrer, and that her dream is 
— are you really sure that this woman is not 
one of the cunning ones ? Are you very sure 
that she is sincerely, passionately interested in 
the exploits of the Pharoahs, and in the god 
Anubis, guide of souls ? Are you sure that the 
greatest effects are not sometimes produced 
with slight effort, and that down in the grotto* 
of Ti she might not have been acting a little 
farce, to which an Egyptologist of my acquaint- 
ance has* fallen an easy dupe? For my own 
part, I believe that if this same handsome fel- 
low had a crooked nose, and dull, squinting 
eyes, Madame Corneuil would like him just as 
well, for the excellent reason that Madame Cor- 
neuil has taken it into her head that some day 
she will be called 1 Countess de Penneville.’ ” 

“ Keally, you excite my pity, uncle, and it is 
very good in me to answer you. To ascribe 
such miserable calculation, self-interest, and 
vanity to the proudest, noblest, and purest of 
souls ! You ought to blush that you can so 
lower yourself. She has told me the story of 
her life, day by day, hour by hour. Heaven 
knows she has nothing to conceal ! The poor 
saint was married very young and against her 
will, through the tyranny of her father, to a 
man who was not worthy to touch the hem of 


94 


KING APEPI. 


her garment with the tip of his finger — and yet 
she forgave him all. If you only knew how 
tenderly she took care of him in his last mo- 
ments ! ” 

“ But it seems to me, my young friend, that 
she was well rewarded for her trouble, since he 
left her his fortune.” 

“ And to whom should he have left it ? Had 
he not everything to make amends for ? No, 
never did woman suffer more or was more 
worthy of happiness. One thing alone sus- 
tained her under her heavy weight of grief. 
She was strongly convinced that some day she 
might meet with a man capable of understand- 
ing her— whose soul might be on a level with 
her own. 4 Yes,’ she said to me the other even- 
ing, ‘ I had faith in him. I was sure of his ex- 
istence, and the first time I saw you I seemed to 
recognize you, and I said to myself, “ May it 
not be he ? ” ’ Yes, uncle, she and I are one 
and the same, and it will be the greatest honor 
of my life. She loves me, I tell you she loves 
me — you can do nothing to alter matters ; so 
we might as well end here, if you are wil- 
ling.” 

The marquis passed his hands twice through 
his white hair, and exclaimed : “ I declare, Hor- 
ace, you are the frankest of innocents, the most 
ingenuous of lovers.” 


KING APEPI. 


95 


“ I assure you, uncle, that you are the most 
obstinate and incurable of unbelievers.” 

“ Horace, I call this sphinx and the nose of 
the goddess Sekhet to witness that poetry is the 
malady of those who know nothing of life.” 

“ And I, uncle, call to witness the moon yon- 
der, and this purple rose, which looks at you 
and laughs, that scepticism is the punishment of 
those who may have abused their life.” 

“ And I — I swear to you by that which is 

most sacred, by the great Sesostris himself ” 

“ O uncle, what a blunder ! I know that you 
should not be blamed for it, for you have hardly 
studied the history of Egypt, and it is no busi- 
ness of yours, but know that there has never 
been so exaggerated and even usurped a reputa- 
tion as that of the man whom you call the great 
Sesostris, and whose name really was Raineses 
II. Swear, if you choose, by King Cheops, 
conqueror of the Bedouins ; swear by Menes, 
who built Memphis ; swear by Amenophis III., 
called Memnon ; or, if you like it better, by 
Snefrou, last king but one of the third dynasty, 
who subdued the nomadic tribes of Arabia 
Petrgea ; but know that your great Sesostris was 
at bottom a very mediocre man, of very slight 
merit, who carried his vanity so far as to have 
the names of the sovereigns who preceded him 
erased from the monuments and substituted his 


96 


KING APEPI. 


own, which had weight with superficial minds, 
Diodorus Siculus particularly, thus introducing 
the most unfortunate mistakes into history. 
Your Sesostris, good heavens ! has only lived 
upon one exploit of his youth. Either through 
address or through luck, he managad to get 
through an ambuscade with life and baggage 
unharmed. That was the great achievement 
which he had engraved hundreds and hundreds 
of times on the walls of all the buildings erected 
during his reign ; that was his eternal Valmy, 
his everlasting Jemappes. I ask you what were 
his conquests ? He managed to capture negroes 
because he wanted masons, he hunted down 
men in Soudan, and his only claim to glory was 
having had one hundred and seventy children, 
of whom sixty-nine were sons.” 

“ Goodness! that is no small thing; but, after 
all, what conclusion do you draw from that ? ” 

“ I conclude,” answered Horace, who had lost 
sight of the principal topic in this digression — 
“ I conclude that Sesostris — no,” replied he, “ I 
conclude that I adore Madame Corneuil, and 
that before three months are over she shall be 
my wife.” 

The marquis rose hastily, exclaiming, “ Hor- 
ace, my heir and great-nephew, come to my 
arms ! ” 

And as Horace, immovable, looked at him as- 


KING APEPI. 


97 


tonished — “ Must I say it again ? Come to my 
arms,” continued be. “ I am pleased with you. 
Your passion really makes me young once more. 
I admire youtb, love, and frankness. I thought 
you only bad a fancy for this woman, a whim, 
but I see your heart is touched, and one cannot 
do better than listen to the voice of the heart. 
Forgive my foolish questions and my imperti- 
nent objections. What I said was to acquit my 
conscience. Your mother gave me my lesson, 
and I repeated it like a parrot. We must not 
get angry with these poor mothers ; their scru- 
ples are always to be respected.” 

“Ah, there you touch a tender and sore 
jioint,” interrupted the young man, “ but I 
know how to win her over — I will write to her 
to-morrow.” 

“ Let me say one word more — do not write ; 
your prose has not the power of pleasing her. 
She has great confidence in me ; my words will 
have weight. My son, I am quite ready to go 
over to the enemy if this lovely woman who 
lives near you is really what you say. I will 
be your advocate with your mother, and we 
will make her listen to reason. Will you intro- 
duce me to Madame Corneuil ? ” 

u Are you really sincere, uncle ? ” asked Hor- 
ace, looking at him with mistrust and defiance. 
“ Can I depend upon your loyalty % ” 

7 


98 


KING A.PEPI. 


“ Upon the faith of an uncle and a gen- 
tleman ! ” interrupted the marquis in his 
turn. 

“ If that be so, we can embrace this time in 
good earnest,” answered Horace, taking the 
hand held out to him. 

The uncle and nephew stayed talking to- 
gether for some time longer, like good friends. 
It was near midnight when Monsieur de Mira- 
val remembered that his carriage was waiting 
for him in the road to take him back to his ho- 
tel. He rose and said to Horace : 

“ It is settled then, that you will introduce 
me to-morrow ? ” 

“ Yes, uncle, at two o’clock precisely.” 

“ Is that the hour when you see her ? ” 

“ One of my hours. I never work between 
breakfast and dinner.” 

“ So everything is ruled to order, like music- 
paper. You are right ; there must be method 
in all things. Even in love everything must 
be done by weight, number, and measure. I 
knew a philosopher once who said that meas- 
ure was the best definition of God. But, by 
the way, I took a nap this afternoon, and am 
not in the least sleepy. Lend me a book for 
company when I go to bed. No doubt, you 
possess Madame Corneuil’s writings ? ” 

“ Could you doubt that i ” 


KING APEPI. 


99 


“ Don’t give me her novel ; I have read that 
already.” 

“ It is a real masterpiece,” said Horace. 

“ There is rather too much fog in it to suit 
my taste. There is a rumor that she has pub- 
lished sonnets.” 

“ They are real gems,” exclaimed he. 

“ And an essay on the apostleship of wom- 
an.” 

“ A wonderful book ! ” exclaimed he again. 

“ Lend me the essay and the sonnets. I will 
read them to-night, that I may be prepared for 
to-morrow’s interview.” 

Horace began at once to search for the two 
volumes, which he found with great difficulty. 
By means of rummaging, he discovered them at 
last under a great pile of quartos, which were 
crushing them with their terrible weight. He 
said to his uncle as he handed them to him : 
“ Keep them as the apple of your eye. For 
she gave them to me.” 

“ Give yourself no uneasiness ; I appreciate 
the value of the treasure,” answered tjie mar- 
quis. 

In the same breath he observed that the 
treatise was only half cut, and the volume of 
sonnets not cut at all, which gave rise to cer- 
tain reflections of his own ; but he carefully 
kept them to himself. 


100 


KING APEPI. 


III. 

This world is full of mysterious events, and 
Hamlet was right in saying that there were 
more things in heaven and earth than were 
dreamed of in Horatio’s philosophy. 

It has been observed that during the time of 
great wars, when different peoples coming from 
all parts of a great empire find themselves sud- 
denly brought together in an army to serve in 
a campaign, strange contagions and fatal epi- 
demics spring up among them, and a great 
thinker has dared to attribute the cause of it to 
the forced propinquity of men totally unlike in 
disposition, in language, and in intellect, who, 
not having been made to live together, are 
brought in contact by an evil caprice of destiny. 
It has also been remarked that, when the crew 
of the ship which annually brings the necessary 
provisions for their subsistence to the poor in- 
habitants of the Shetland Isles land on their 
shores, they are seized with a sj)asmodic cough, 
and do not cease coughing until the ship has 
again set sail. It is also said that at the ap- 
proach of a strange vessel the natives of the 
Faroe Isles are attacked by a catarrhal fever, 
which it is very difficult to get rid of. Finally, 


KING APEPI. 


101 


it is stated that sometimes the arrival of a sin- 
gle missionary in one of the South -Sea islands 
is enough to bring on a dangerous epidemic 
which will decimate the wretched savages. 

This may perhaps explain why, during the 
night of August 13, 1878, the beautiful Ma- 
dame Corneuil was greatly disturbed in her 
sleep, and why, on waking the next morning, 
she felt as if her whole body had been bruised. 
It was not the plague, it was no cholera, no 
catarrhal fever, no spasmodic cough, but she felt 
a certain tightness about the head, a disturbance, 
and a very peculiar nervous irritation : and she 
had a presentiment that there was danger near, 
or that an enemy had just landed. Yet she did 
not know about the Marquis de Miraval, had 
never even heard of him ; she little knew that 
he was more dangerous than any missionary who 
ever landed in the islands of the Pacific. 

As her mother, who was always the first to 
enter her chamber to lavish upon her those at- 
tentions which she alone knew how to make 
agreeable, drew near the bed on tiptoe and 
wished her good morning, Madame Corneuil, 
out of humor, gave her a rather cool greeting. 
Madame Veretz readily perceived that her 
adored angel was out ‘of sorts. This indulgent 
mother was somewhat accustomed to her whims. 
She was made for it, and did not mind. Her 


102 


KI1VG APEPI. 


daughter was her queen, her divinity, her all ; 
she devoted herself entirely to her happiness 
and her glory ; she actually worshipped her 
with real adoration. She belonged to that race 
of mothers who are servants and martyrs ; but 
her servitude pleased her, her martyrdom was 
sweet to her, and the thin little woman, with 
the quick eye, and serpentine gait, who, like 
Cato the Censor, whom she resembled in nothing 
else, had greenish eyes and red hair, always 
faced cheerfully the hardships she had to bear. 

She had her own consolations. She might 
be snubbed, scolded, and sent off, but it always 
ended in her being listened to, since good al- 
ways resulted from it. It was by her advice 
that at the propitious moment they had quar- 
relled with Monsieur Corneuil, and afterward 
become reconciled to him. Thanks to her valu- 
able suggestions, they had been able to hold a 
salon in Paris, and to become of some impor- 
tance there. Madame Corneuil reigned, while 
really it was Madame Veretz who governed, 
and it must be said she never had any other 
end in view but the good fortune of her dear 
idol. We all have confused ideas of our own 
which we can hardly unravel, and hidden de- 
sires which we dare not' confess to ourselves. 
Madame Veretz had the gift of comprehending 
her daughter, and reading the inmost recesses of 


KING APEPI. 


103 


her heart. She undertook to unravel her con- 
fused ideas, and to reveal to her her unacknowl- 
edged wishes, and took charge of them. That 
w r as the secret of her influence, which was con- 
siderable. When Madame Corneuirs imagina- 
tion wandered, her incomparable mother started 
out as her courier. On reaching the station, 
the fair traveller found her relays of horses all 
ready, and she was under great obligations to 
her mother for arranging many an agreeable 
surprise for her. She would have taken great 
care, moreover, not to embark on any scheme 
without her courier, whom she might thank for 
never having allowed her to break down on the 
way. 

After having sent away her mother, and 
spent half an hour with her maid, Madame 
Corneuil took a cup of tea, then seated herself 
at her secretary. She spent her mornings in 
writing a book, which was to form a sequel to 
her treatise upon the “ Apostleship,” to be called 
a The Position of Woman in Modern Society.” 
To speak plainly, she was merely making the 
same ideas serve her a second time. Her aim 
was to show that in democratic society, com- 
mitted to the worship of the greatest number, 
the only corrective to coarseness of manners, 
thought, and interest, would be the sovereignty 
of woman. “ Kings are dying out,” she wrote 


104 


KING APEPI. 


the night before, in a moment of inspiration — • 
“ let them go ; but we must not let them bear 
away with them that true kingliness whose 
benefits are necessary even to republics. Let 
women sit on the thrones which they leave 
empty. With them will reign virtue, genius, 
sublime aspirations, delicacy of heart, disinter- 
ested sentiments, noble devotion, and noble 
scorn.” I may have spoiled her phrases, but I 
think I have given the gist of them. I think, 
also, that, in the portrait she drew, the superior 
woman whom she proposed for the worship of 
human kind bore a surprising resemblance to 
Madame Corneuil, nor could she imagine her 
without splendid golden hair twisted around 
her brow like a diadem. 

After a bad night one does not feel inclined 
for writing. That day Madame Corneuil 
was not in the mood. The pen felt heavy 
to the pretty hand, with its taper fingers ; 
both ideas and expression failed her. In 
vain she twisted a loose curl over her forefin- 
ger, in vain did she look at her rosy finger- 
tips — nothing came of it ; she began to fancy 
that a shadow of coming misfortune fell be- 
tween her and the paper. Heaven knows 
that in like cases every care was taken to 
save her nerves, to cause her no interruption ; 
such were the orders. During those hours 


KING APEPI. 


105 


when she was known to be within her sanctum, 
the most profound silence reigned everywhere. 
Madame Yeretz saw to that. Everyone spoke 
in a whisper and stepped softly ; and when 
Jacquot, who did the errands, crossed the paved 
court-yard, he took great care to remove his 
sabots, lest he might be heard. This precau- 
tion on his part was the result of sad experi- 
ence. Jacquot played the horn in his leisure 
moments. One morning when he took the lib- 
erty of playing, Madame Yeretz coming upon 
him unawares, gave him a vigorous box on the 
ear, saying to him : “ Keep still, you little 
idiot ! don’t you know that she is meditating ? ” 
Jacquot rubbed his cheek, and took warning. 
Everybody did the same. So from eight o’clock 
till noon Jacquot whispered to the cook, and 
the cook told the coachman, and the coachman 
told the hens in the yard, who repeated it to 
the sparrows, who repeated it to the swallows, 
and to all the winds of heaven, “ Brothers, let us 
keep silence — she is meditating ! ” 

When it struck noon, the door of the sanctu- 
ary opened softly, and, as before, Madame 
Yeretz crept in on tiptoe, asking, “ My dear 
beauty, may I be allowed to enter ? ” 

Madame Corneuil scowled with her beautiful 
eyebrows, and poutingly placed her papers in 
the most elegant portfolio, and her portfolio 


106 


KING APEPI. 


in the depths of her rosewood secretary, tak- 
ing care to remove the key, for fear of rob- 
bers. 

“ Orders must have been given,” said she, 
l< not to leave me a moment in peace.” 

“ I was obliged to go out this morning,” an- 
swered Madame Veretz ; “did Jacquot happen 
to take advantage of my absence ? ” 

“ Jacquot, or someone else, I do not know 
who ; but they made a great deal of noise, and 
moved the furniture about. Was it absolutely 
necessary for you to go out ? ” 

“ Absolutely. You complained yesterday that 
the fish was not fresh, and that Julia did not 
understand buying ; so henceforth I shall do my 
own marketing.” 

“ And during that time, then, there must be a 
fearful racket.” 

“ What can you do ? Between two evils ” 

“ No,” interrupted Madame Corneuil, “ I do 
not wish you to go yourself and bargain for 
fish ; why do you not teach Julia how to select 
it? You do not know how to give orders, 
and so it ends in your doing everything your- 
self.” 

“ I will learn, I will try to improve, my dar- 
ling,” answered Madame Veretz, kissing her 
forehead tenderly. She did not add that she 
liked to go to market, which was the truth. 


KING APEPI. 


107 


Among people who rise from small beginnings, 
some resent their past, and strive to forget it, 
while it pleases others to recall it. 

“ What have you there ? ” exclaimed Madame 
Corneuil, seeing just then that her mother held 
a sheet of paper in her hand. 

“ This, my dear, is a note in which Monsieur 
de Penneville begs me to inform you that his 
great-uncle, the Marquis de Miraval, arrived 
yesterday from Paris, and has expressed a de- 
sire to be introduced, and that he will bring him 
here at two o’clock exactly. You know he is a 
victim to the stroke of the clock.” 

“ What prevented him from coming to tell us 
himself ? ” 

“ Apparently he feared disturbing you, and 
perhaps he did not care to disarrange his own 
plans. In all well-ordered lives the first rule is 
to work until noon.” 

Madame Corneuil grew impatient. “ Who 
may this great-uncle be ? ” she said. “ Horace 
never told me about him.” 

“ I can easily believe that. He never speaks 
of anything but you — or himself — or Egypt.” 

“ But if I choose that he should talk to me 
about these ! ” answered Madame Corneuil, 
haughtily. “ Is that another epigram ? ” 

“ Ho you think I could make epigrams against 
that dear, handsome fellow ? ” hastily answered 


108 


KING APEPI. 


Madame Veretz. “I already love him like a 
son.” 

Madame Corneuil seemed to have grown 
thoughtful. “I had bad dreams last night,” 
said she. “ You laugh at my dreams, because 
you like to laugh at my expense. Now see : In 
coming from Paris, Monsieur de Miraval must 
have passed through Vichy. This marquis is 
dangerous.” 

“Dangerous!” exclaimed Madame Veretz; 
“ what danger have you to fear ? ” 

“ You will see that Madame de Penneville has 
sent him here.” 

“ Can you believe that Horace — ah ! my poor 
goose, are you not sure of his heart ? ” . 

“ Is anyone ever sure of a man’s heart ? ” an- 
swered she, feigning an anxiety which she was 
far from feeling. 

“ Perhaps not of any man’s ? ” said Madame 
Veretz, smiling ; “ but the heart of an Egyptol- 
ogist is quite another thing, and never changes. 
As far as sentiment goes, Egyptology is the one 
unchangeable thing.” 

* I told you I had had bad dreams, and that 
the marquis is dangerous to us.” 

“ Here is my reply,” was her mother’s answer, 
as she held before her a mirror in such a way as 
to oblige her to see herself in it. 

“ It seems to me as if I looked a fright this 


KING APEPI. 


109 


morning,” said Madame Corneuil, who thought 
nothing of the sort. 

“You are beautiful as the day, my dear 
countess, and I defy all the marquises in the 
world ” 

“No, I will not receive this great-uncle,” be- 
gan Hortense again, as she pushed aside the 
mirror ; “you may receive him in my place. Do 
you think I am obliged to endure imperti- 
nences ? ” 

“ There you are ! — you are putting things at 
their worst ; you are getting excited, forgetting 
yourself, and rushing to conclusions.” 

“ I tell you once more, I am ill.” 

“ My dear idol, one must never be ill except 
at the suitable moment ; and in this case take 
care, or he will fancy you are afraid of him.” 

Madame Corneuil, on reflection, was evidently 
convinced that her mother was right, for she 
said to her: 

“ Since you wish me to submit to be thus 
bored, so be it ! Order my breakfast to be 
brought up, and send my maid to me.” 

“ Nothing could be better,” answered Madame 
Veretz. “Ah, my dear ! I am not inflicting a 
bore upon you — I am preparing a triumph for 
you.” 

With these words she withdrew, not without 
kissing her for the second time. 


110 


KING APEPI. 


At two o'clock precisely, Madame Veretz, 
seated in a rustic hut opposite the veranda of 
the chalet, was awaiting Count de Penneville 
and Monsieur de Miraval ; at two o’clock pre- 
cisely the marquis and the count appeared on 
the horizon. The presentation was made with 
proper formality, and soon conversation began. 
Madame Veretz was a woman of great tact in 
all difficult circumstances ; sudden events never 
disconcerted her ; she knew how to receive an 
uncomfortable visitor as well as a disagreeable 
incident. Monsieur de Miraval, however, gave 
her no occasion to practise that virtue. He was 
thoroughly courteous and gracious ; he brought 
all the amiability and brilliancy of his past 
grandeur to bear on this occasion ; he took as 
much pains as he formerly did for the sovereigns 
of the world who gave him audience. Where 
was the use of having been a diplomatist if not 
to possess the art of talking a great deal with- 
out saying anything ? He had words at his 
command, and, when it was necessary, a fluent 
eloquence, the art of “ pouring honey over oil,” 
as the Russian proverb has it. 

Everything went on well. Horace, who had 
greatly dreaded the interview, and who at first 
appeared constrained and disturbed, soon lost 
his anxiety, and felt his embarrassment at an end. 
It was part of his character to be quickly reas- 


KING APEPI. 


Ill 


sured. He was not only a born optimist, but 
be bad gone too deeply into tbe theology of 
Egypt not to know that in tbe human world, as 
in tbe divine, tbe struggle between tbe two prin- 
ciples ends generally in tbe triumph of tbe 
good, that Typbon finally submits to be dis- 
armed, and Horus, tbe beneficent deity, takes in 
band tbe government of the universe. Count 
de Penneville’s face expressed profound faith in 
tbe final triumph of Horus, tbe beneficent deity. 

Tbe ice was completely broken when Madame 
Corneuil made her appearance. We may easily 
believe that she bad taken great pains for this 
occasion with her toilet and tbe arrangement of 
her hair ; her half -mourning was most charming. 
It must be granted that as there are queens who 
strongly resemble ordinary people, so there are 
ordinary people who resemble queens, barring 
the crown and the king. That day Madame 
Corneuil was not merely a queen, she was a 
goddess from bead to foot. She might have 
been described as Juno appearing from a cloud. 
Neither did she fail in her manner of entrance. 
On seeing her approach, tbe marquis could not 
repress a thrill of emotion, and, when be drew 
nearer to her to greet her with bowed bead, be 
lost bis self-command, which seldom happened 
to him ; be stood confused, began several sen- 
tences without being able to finish them : it is 


112 


KING APEPI. 


said that it was the first time in his life that 
such a mishap had happened to him. His dis- 
turbance was so great that Horace, who usually 
never noticed anything, could not help remark- 
ing it. 

Monsieur de Miraval made a great effort, and 
was not long in recovering his confidence and 
all his ease of manner. After a few trifling 
remarks, he began to relate pleasantly several 
anecdotes of his diplomatic career, which he 
seasoned with graceful wit and a grain of 
salt. 

As he told his little stories, he went on talk- 
ing to himself. “ There is no denying it, she is 
very beautiful; she is a superior woman, fit for 
a king. What eyes ! what hair ! what shoulders ! 
Can she be the daughter of such a mother, and 
all those beautiful, fair locks come from that red 
hair ? There is no denying it, her beauty irri- 
tates and exasperates me. If I were forty years 
younger, I would be one of her suitors. Really, 
she is superb. Can I find any fault with her ? 
Yes, there is a restlessness in her eyes which I 
do not like. Her lips are rather thin — bah ! 
that is only a foible. Heaven be thanked ! 
there is no ink-spot on her finger-ends, but they 
are too tapering, too nervous, and look like 
hands ready to clutch. Her eyelids are too 
long — they can conceal a great deal. Her voice 


KING APEPI. 


113 


is well modulated, but metallic; still, if I were 
forty years younger ” 

The marquis went on telling stories. Madame 
Veretz was all ears, and smiled with the best 
grace in the world. As for Madame Corneuil, 
she did not lay aside a somewhat disdainful 
gravity of bearing. She had come upon the 
scene with a certain part to play ; she had got 
it into her head that she was to appear before 
an ill-disposed judge, who had come expressly 
to take her measure and to weigh her in the 
balance. So she armed herself with Olympian 
majesty and that insolence of beauty which 
tramples impertinence under foot, crushes the 
haughty, and transforms Actseons into stags. 
Although the marquis’s politeness was faultless 
and emphatic, and although he besought her to 
look favorably upon him, she remained firm and 
would not be disarmed. 

Horace listened to all with great satisfaction ; 
he thought his uncle charming, and could hardly 
keep from embracing him. He also thought 
that Madame Corneuil never had beeij more 
beautiful, that the sunlight was brighter than 
ever, that it streamed down upon his happiness, 
that the air was full of perfume, and that every- 
thing in the world was going on wonderfully. 
Yet now and then a slight shadow came like a 
cloud before his eyes. In reading over that 


114 


KING APEPI. 


morning the fragments of Manetho, he stumbled 
upon a passage apparently contradictory to his 
favorite argument, which was dear to him as life 
itself. At intervals he began to doubt whether 
it really was during the reign of Apepi that 
Joseph, son of Jacob, came into Egypt; then he 
reproached himself for his doubt, which came 
back to him the next moment. This contradic- 
tion grieved him greatly, for he had a great re- 
gard for Manetho. But when he looked at 
Madame Corneuil his soul was at rest again, and 
he fancied he could read in her beautiful eyes a 
proof that the Pharaoh who knew not Joseph 
must have been Sethos I., in which case the 
Pharaoh who did know him must have been 
King Apepi. To be tenderly loved by a 
beautiful woman makes it easy to believe any- 
thing, and all things become possible — Manetho, 
Joseph, King Apepi, and all the rest. 

What was passing in the mind of the mar- 
quis ? To what conquering charm had he fallen 
a victim ? The fact was, he was no longer like 
himself. He had made an excellent beginning, 
and Madame Veretz was delighted with his 
tales. Little by little his animation grew lan- 
guid. This man, who was so great a master 
over his own thoughts, could no longer control 
them ; this man, so great in conversation, was 
actually seeking in vain for the proper words. 


KING APEPI. 


115 


He struggled for some time against this strange 
fascination which deprived him of his faculties, 
but it was all in vain. He no longer took part 
in the conversation, except in a few detached 
phrases, which were absolutely irrelevant, and 
soon fell into a deep re very and the dullest 
silence. 

“ My mother was right,” said Madame Cor- 
neuil. u I have quite overawed him ; I have 
made him afraid of me.” And so, applauding 
herself for having silenced the batteries of the 
besieger and put out his fires, a smile of satis- 
fied pride hovered around her lips. A moment 
after she rose to walk round the garden, and 
Horace hastened to follow her. 

The marquis was left alone with Madame 
Veretz. He followed the pair of lovers with 
his eyes for a little while, as they slowly with- 
drew and finally disappeared behind the shrub- 
bery. Then the spell seemed broken. Mon- 
sieur de Miraval regained his voice, and, turning 
toward Madame Veretz, exclaimed dramati- 
cally : “ No, nothing has ever yet been created 
more beautiful than youth, more divine than 
love. My nephew is a fortunate fellow. I con- 
gratulate him aloud, but I keep my envy to my- 
self.” 

Madame Veretz rewarded this ejaculation 
with a gracious smile, which signified : u Good 


116 


KING APEPI. 


old fellow ! we judged you wrongly. How can 
you serve us best ? ” 

“ The more I see them together, Monsieur le 
Marquis,” said she, “ the more I am convinced 
that they were made for one another. Never 
were two characters better matched : they have 
the same likes and the same dislikes, the same 
elevated tone of mind, the same scorn for vulgar 
ideas and petty calculations, the same disregard 
of vulgar interests. They both live in paradise. 
Ah ! Monsieur le Marquis, only a providential 
dispensation could have brought them together.” 

“Very providential,” said the marquis, but 
he added, in petto, “A manoeuvring mother is 
the surest of all providences.” Then he re- 
sumed aloud : “ After all, what is the aim of it ? 
Happiness. My nephew is right to consider his 
affection only. He can have his paradise, as 
you call it, madame, and all the rest into the 
bargain ; for Madame Corneuil — we will not 
speak of her beauty, which is incomparable, but 
it is impossible to see her or to hear her speak 
without recognizing her to be a most superior 
woman, the most suitable in the world to give a 
man good counsel, and to lead him onward, to 
push him forward.” 

“ You certainly judge her correctly,” answered 
Madame Veretz. “My daughter is a strange 
being ; she is full of noble enthusiasm which 


KING A PEP I. 


117 


she carries at times to exaltation, and yet she is 
thoroughly reasonable, very intelligent as re- 
gards the things of this world, and at the same 
time dead to her own interests and ardent for 
those of others.” 

“ One thing alone ■ distresses me,” said the 
marquis to her. “ The story-teller advises all 
happy lovers to roam only to neighboring 
shores, and ours are going to bury their happi- 
ness in Memphis or in Thebes. It will be a 
crime to take Madame Corneuil away from 
Paris.” 

“ Reassure yourself,” said she ; “ Paris will 
have them back again.” 

“ You do not know my nephew : he has a 
horror of that perverse and frivolous city. He 
confided to me yesterday that he means to end 
his days in Egypt, and assured me that Madame 
Corneuil was as much in love as he was with 
the solitude and silence of the region of the 
Thebaid. He appears very gentle, but there 
never was a person of more determined will.” 

“ Heaven help him ! ” said Madame Veretz, 
looking at the marquis as if she would say, 
“My fine friend, there is no will which can 
stand against ours, and Paris can no more do 
without us than we without Paris.” 

“ They have chosen the good part,” continued 
Monsieur de Miraval with a deep sigh. “ I 


118 


KING APEPI. 


have often laughed at my nephew, blaming him 
because he did not know how to enjoy life ; now 
it is his turn to laugh at me, for I am reduced 
to envying his happiness. There comes an age 
when one regrets bitterly not having been able 
to make a home for one’s self. But you must 
be astonished, madame, at my confidences.” 

“ I am rather flattered by them than aston- 
ished,” answered she. 

“ I am a prey to weariness, I must acknowl- 
edge. I had determined to pass the remainder 
of my days in retirement and in quiet, but ennui 
will yet force me out of my den. I shall plunge 
into active political life again. I have been 
urged to stand for the arrondissement where 
my chateau is situated, and have also been pro- 
posed for the Senate. I might rise still higher 
if I were married to a woman of sense, intelli- 
gent in the things of this world in spite of her 
enthusiasms. Women are a great means of suc- 
cess in politics. Would that I had a wife ! as 
the poet says : 1 Have I passed the season of 
love ? Ah ! if my heart,’ etc., etc. I cannot 
remember the rest of it, but never mind. 
Lucky Horace ! thrice happy ! What a vast 
difference there is between living in Egypt 
with the woman one loves, and bustling about 
Paris in the whirl of politics without her ! ” 

Madame Veretz in truth thought the differ- 


KING APEPI. 


119 


ence vast, but greatly to the advantage of the 
bustle and the whirl. She could not help think- 
ing, “ It would be perfect if my future son-in- 
law only had the tastes and inclinations of his 
uncle ; there would be nothing more to wish 
for.” 

From that moment the Marquis de Miraval ' 
became a most interesting being to her. She 
tried to reconcile him to his fate, and, as she 
had a genius for detail and for business, she 
asked him a great many questions about his 
electoral arrondissement and his chances of elec- 
tion. The marquis, somewhat embarrassed, re- 
plied as best he could. He could not get out 
of it except by changing the subject, and so he 
gave the inquisitive woman a full description 
of his chateau, which was doubtless well worth 
the trouble, only he seldom visited it. The 
minute information which he gave respecting 
liis estates and their revenues was not of such a 
nature as to chill the interest which she was 
beginning to take in him. 

During all this time, Madame Corneuil 
strolled along a path in the garden with Hor- 
ace, who did not notice that her nerves were 
greatly excited and that she was somewhat ruf- 
fled. There were a great many things which 
Count de Penneville never noticed. 

“ Heavens ! what beautiful weather,” said 


120 


KING APEPI. 


he to her ; “ what a beautiful sky, what a beau- 
tiful sun ! Still, it is not the sun of Egypt ! 
when shall we see it again ? 1 Oh, thither, 

thither let us go,’ as Mignon’s song says. You 
must sing that song to me to-night ; no one 
sings it like you. This park never seemed 
so green to me as now. There is no denying 
the beauty of green grass, although I can get 
on wonderfully well without it. I once knew 
a traveller who thought Greece horrible because 
there were so few trees. There are people 
who are wild on the subject of trees. Do you 
remember our first excursion to Gizeh — the 
vast bare plain, the wavy hills, the ochre-colored 
sand ? You said, 1 1 could eat it ! ’ 

“We met a long line of camels; I can see 
them now. The pyramids pierced the horizon, 
and they seemed white and sparkling. How 
they stood out against the sky ! They seemed 
quivering. The air here never quivers. What 
a good breakfast we had in that chapel ! You 
wore a tarbush on your head, and it became 
you like a charm. When shall I see you in a 
tarbush again ? The turkey was somewhat 
lean, I remember, and I made a great blunder 
— I let fall the jar which held our Nile- water. 
We laughed, and had to drink our wine un- 
mixed. After which we descended into the 
grotto, and I interpreted hieroglyphics to you 


KING APEPI. 


121 


for the first time. I shall never forget your de- 
light at my telling you that a lute meant hap- 
piness, because the sign of happiness was the 
harmony of the soul. In *the Chinese writings, 
happiness is represented by a handful of rice. 
After that, who could contest the immense su- 
periority of soul in the genius of the Egyp- 
tians over the inhabitants of the Celestial Em- 
pire ? ” 

At length he discovered that Madame Cor- 
neuil made no reply to him ; he sought for an 
explanation and soon found it. “ How did the 
Marquis de Miraval impress you ? ” asked he in 
an anxious voice. 

This time she answered. “ He is very dis - 
tingue. He begins stories remarkably well, but 
finishes them poorly. Must I be sincere ? ” 

“ Absolutely sincere.” 

“ He does not please me much.” 

“ Did he say anything to offend you ? ” ex- 
claimed Horace, who was afraid his uncle might 
have been disagreeable while his mind was wan- 
dering with Manetho and King Apepi. 

“ He is a man of talent,” answered she, “ but 
I like some soul, and I suspect he has none.” 
As she uttered these words she fastened her 
great brown eyes on the face of the young man ; 
he saw a soul in their depths ; he might per- 
haps have seen two. 


122 


KING APEPI. 


“ You must be frank in your turn,” resumed 
she. “ You do not know bow to tell a lie, and 
that is one reason why I love you. You told 
me that you were going to write to Madame de 
Penneville. The marquis is ber answer.” 

u I must admit it is so,” said be, “ but, if tbe 
whole universe should put itself between you 
and me, it would have its trouble for nothing. 
You know that I love and adore you.” 

“ Your heart, then, is indeed mine, wdiolly 
mine ? ” asked she, with a most bewitching 
glance. 

“ Forever, forever yours,” answered he, in a 
voice half choked with emotion. 

They drew near an arbor, the entrance to 
wdiich was narrow. Madame Corneuil went in 
first, and when Horace joined her she stood mo- 
tionless before him, gazing at him with a melan- 
choly smile. Until that moment she had kept 
him at a distance, without allowing him to make 
any advances, but now by a sudden impulse she 
raised her lips and forehead to him, as if to 
claim a kiss. He understood, and yet feared 
lest he should have mistaken. He hesitated, 
but at last ventured to press his lips to hers. 
He felt ill. Only once before had he felt the 
same wild emotion. It was one day near 
Thebes, when making an excavation, he saw 
with his eyes — his own eyes — at the bottom of 


KING APEPI. 


123 


the trench, a great sarcophagus of pink granite. 
That day, too, he grew faint. 

Madame Corneuil sat down ; he fell at her 
feet, and, resting his elbows upon her beloved 
knees, devoured her glances for a while. There 
was only the width of a path between the arbor 
and the lake ; they heard the wavek murmuring 
to the beach. She stammered a few words of 
love ; she spoke of that joy and mystery which 
no human tongue can express. 

After a long silence Madame Corneuil said : 
“ Great happiness is always restless and uneasy, 
everything frightens it — it is scared at every- 
thing. I implore you to get rid of this diplo- 
matist. I never liked diplomatists. All they 
can see in the world is prejudice, interest, cal- 
culation, and vanity.” 

“ Your wishes are sacred to me,” said he to 
her, “ and, even if I must forever break with 
him, I will do everything to please you, al- 
though I have always returned the friendship 
he has borne for me.” 

“Yes, send him back to his family, who must 
object to our having him. May he soon return 
to tell his stories to them ! ” 

“ But allow me — I am his family; he is un- 
married, or rather he has been a widower for 
thirty years, and has neither son nor daughter. 
But what do I care for his property ? ” 


124 


KING APEPI. 


At these words Madame Corneuil emerged 
from her rapture, and pricked up her ears like 
a dog who scents unexpected game. “ His 
property ! You his heir ! You never told me 
so.” 

“ And why should I have told you ? What 
is money to* us? This is my treasure,” added 
he, tiying to get a second kiss, which she wisely 
refused, for one must not be too lavish. 

“ Yes, how base a trifle the whole subject of 
money is ! ” said she. “ Is the marquis very 
rich ? ” 

“ My mother says that he has an income of 
•two hundred thousand francs. He may do 
what he pleases with it. Since you do not like 
him, I will tell him plainly that I renounce my 
position as his heir.” 

“ It must all be done with propriety,” an- 
swered Madame Corneuil with considerable ani- 
mation. a You are fond of him. It would 
make me wretched to set you against a relation 
whom you love.” 

“ I would give up all for you,” exclaimed he ; 
“ all else seems such a trifle.” 

He remained a little longer at her feet ; but, 
to his great grief, she made him rise, saying : 
“ Monsieur de Miraval will remark our long ab- 
sence from him. We must be polite.” 

Two minutes after she entered the pavilion, 


KING APEPI. 


125 


whither Horace followed her, and greeted the 
marquis with a tinge of affability which she 
had not shown before ; but, although she had 
changed her expression and manner, the spell 
was not broken, and its effect was even more 
perceptible. Monsieur de Miraval, after hav- 
ing recovered all his wits in Conversing with 
Madame Veretz, and giving her all sorts of 
confidences, was disturbed anew at the appear- 
ance of his beautiful enemy. He replied to all 
her advances in incoherent phrases, and sentences 
without head or tail, which might have fallen 
from the moon. Soon, as if angry with himself 
and his undignified weakness, he rose hastily, 
and, turning toward Madame Veretz with a 
profound bow, took leave of her ; then, advanc- 
ing toward Madame Corneuil, he looked her 
full in the eyes, and with a sort of fierceness in 
his voice said : “ Madame, I came, I -saw, and I 
have been conquered.” 

Thereupon he withdrew like one wishing to 
make his escape, and forbade his nephew to ac- 
company him. It can be easily imagined that 
after his departure he was freely discussed. 
All agreed that his conduct was peculiar ; Ma- 
dame Veretz protested that she thought him 
more charming than odd, but Madame Corneuil 
thought him more odd than charming. Horace, 
for his part, tried to explain the eccentricity of 


126 


KING APEPI. 


his conduct by his varying state of health, or 
by a certain whimsical disposition excusable at 
his age. • 

44 There is some mystery about it which you 
must take pains to clear up,” said Madame Cor- 
neuil to him; and as he looked at his watch 
and was about * to withdraw — 44 By the way, 
lazy boy,” said she, 44 when are you going to 
read me the famous fourth chapter of your 
4 History of the Hyksos ? ’ You must remem- 
ber that you were to read it some evening with 
a midnight supper in its honor. We must 
h§,ve that supper in Paris. Will it not be de- 
licious ? ” 

At the thought of the little private banquet 
in honor of Apepi, Horace’s heart thrilled with 
delight and his eyes beamed. 44 I will read you 
nothing until it is worthy of you. Give me ten 
days more.” 

44 Ten days — that is a century ! ” said she ; 
44 but keep your word, or I shall break with 
you.” As he withdrew she added, 44 The next 
time you meet Monsieur de Miraval, be on your 
guard and shrewd.” 

44 He shrewd ! ” exclaimed Madame Veretz 
when left alone with her daughter; 44 you might 
as well order him to swim across the lake.” 

44 Is that meant for another epigram ? ” said 
Madame Corneuil, crossly. 


KING APEPI. 


127 


“ Since I adore him as he is,” answered the 
mother, “ what more can you expect ? As for 
Monsieur de Miraval, you are quite wrong to 
worry yourself on his account. My opinion is, 
that he is entirely won over to our side.” 

“ It is not mine,” answered Madame Corneuil. 

“ At all events, my dear, we must treat him 
with great tact, for I know from the very best 
authority ” 

“ You are going to tell me,” interrupted Ma- 
dame Corneuil disdainfully, “ that he has an in- 
come of two hundred thousand francs, and that 
Horace is his heir. Such base trifles are like af- 
fairs of state to you.” 

Soon after she said to her mother, “ Then ask 
Horace to invite him to breakfast with us at an 
early day.” 

IV. 

The following afternoon Count de Pennetdlle 
went to the Hotel Gibbon, hoping to see his 
uncle there, but he did not And him. He left 
his card with a few words to express his regret 
at having taken his drive for naught, and to tell 
him that Madame Veretz and her daughter 
would be happy to see the Marquis de Miraval 
to breakfast on the following day. The mar- 
quis sent him his reply in the evening ; he said 


128 


KING APEPI. 


that he was not well, and begged his nephew to 
excuse him to the ladies, whose kind attention 
touched him deeply. Uneasy about his uncle’s 
health, Horace went in the morning, contrary to 
his usual habits, to ask after him. This time 
also the nest was empty, and the count had both 
the vexation of having taken his warlk for noth- 
ing and the pleasure of concluding that the in- 
valid must be well again. 

Urged by Madame Corneuil, he wrote to con- 
vey to him another invitation to breakfast. The 
marquis replied by special messenger that he 
had just decided to return to Paris, and was 
much grieved that he had not even time to bid 
them good-by. 

This sudden and unexpected departure ex- 
cited the Pension Vallaud greatly. They 
talked of it for a full hour by the clock, and 
they talked of it every day following. Mon- 
sieur de Penneville was the first to get over his 
surprise. u Come what may,” thought he, “ I 
am firm as a rock,” and he w r ould soon have be- 
gun to think of something else. The mother 
and daughter were less philosophical. Madame 
Veretz was painfully surprised, and keenly dis- 
turbed at having been so mistaken, for she 
prided herself upon never being mistaken. Ma- 
dame Corneuil taunted her triumphantly. 

“ I congratulate you upon your penetration,” 


KING APEPI. 


129 


remarked she. u You said that Monsieur de 
Miraval was entirely gained over to our side. 
It turns out that all his kindness did not even 
reach the first principles of civility. He came 
as a spy, and he has gone back at once to report 
to Madame de Penneville. We shall soon hear 
from him, and the news will not be very pleas- 
ant. I am quite sure that you did not know 
how to behave to him, and said something which 
has compromised us.” 

“ Is that the way I am in the habit of acting, 
my dear % ” answered Madame Veretz. “ I con- 
fess that his conduct surprises me. It is contrary 
to all my notions of the customs of nations. Be- 
fore going to war, a gentleman should declare 
it. This monster has concealed his game well.” 

u You have always been blindly confident.” 

“ And yet evil tongues persist that I am a 
successful manoeuvring mother. Do not over- 
whelm me, my darling ; what distresses me is 
that an inheritance yielding an income of two 
hundred thousand francs does not grow on every 
bush.” 

“ You think of nothing but the inheritance. 
That may well be questioned ; but there is some 
dark- plot going on, of which we shall soon see 
the results. This old fellow intends to play 
some trick of his own upon us.” 

“ Let us wait awhile,” said Madame Veretz; 

9 


130 


KING APEPI. 


“ it needs heavy cannon to take fortresses. Say 
what yon like, we may sleep at our ease in our 
beds.” 

Three days after, Madame Veretz, unknown 
to her daughter, went out very early to do her 
own marketing, and, on her return, entered 
stealthily into the Count de Penneville’s apart- 
ment, opened the door of his study, and, with 
her hand upon the latch, said to him : “ Do you 
want to know something, my pretty blue-bird ? 
Monsieur de Miraval has not left Lausanne. I 
just met him crossing the Place Saint-Fran^ois.” 

“ That is impossible ! ” answered he, dropping 
his pen. 

“ Perhaps it is impossible, but it is more true 
than impossible,” said she, rushing out. 

Horace went forthwith to the Hotel Gibbon, 
and was no more successful than before. He 
returned in the evening, and his perseverance 
was at last rewarded. He was overjoyed to see 
Monsieur de Miraval assisting his digestion by 
smoking a cigar on the terrace of the hotel. 

u Well, uncle,” said he, “ I thought you had 
gone.” 

“ The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak,” 
answered the marquis. “ Lausanne is such a 
delightful town that I had not the courage to 
tear myself away.” 

“ Condescend to explain.” 


KING APEPI. 


131 


“ Come up into my room,” interrupted he ; 
“ we can talk better there.” 

As soon as they entered it, the marquis threw 
himself into a chair, murmuring, “ Oh, how 
tired I am ! ” then he offered an easy-chair to 
his nephew, who said to him : “ Once for all, let 
us understand one another. Friend or enemy?” 

“ Let us make a distinction. Friend of the 
dear fellow» before me, but a determined enemy, 
a sworn enemy, and a mortal enemy to his mar- 
riage.” 

“ So Madame Corneuil was not so fortunate 
as to please you ! ” resumed Horace, in a tone 
of bitter irony. 

“ Quite the contrary,” said the marquis, ex- 
citedly. “You did not say enough that was 
good about that woman. There is only one 
word suitable — she is adorable.” 

“ But uncle, if that is so ” 

“ Adorable, I say it again ; but not at all 
suited to you. To begin with, you think you 
love her — you do not love her.” 

“ Be kind enough to prove that.” 

“ No, you do not love her. You see her 
through the medium of your mutual reminis- 
cences of travel, through the medium of the de- 
light you took in explaining the tomb of Ti to 
her. You see her through Egypt and the Pha- 
raohs. From the summit of the pyramids, forty 


132 


KING APEPI. 


centuries have looked down upon your betrothal, 
and that is why your love is so dear to you. It 
is a pure mirage of the desert ! Leave out 
Egypt, leave out Ti, breathe on the rest, and 
nothing remains.” 

“ If that is your only objection ” 

“ I have another. You are not of the same 
age.” 

“ She is seventeen months, two weeks, and 
three days older than I. Is that worth talking 
about ? ” 

u I hope your figures are right. I know your 
strict exactness in all kinds of calculation. But 
this woman is very mature in character, and you 
will be a child all your life. It might be said 
of you as of the Bishop of Avranches, 1 When 
will his reverence get through his studies ? ’ If 
you were in business, diplomacy, or politics, I 
should say, 1 Marry that phoenix ; your future 
will be secure.’ But it would be ridiculous for 
a perpetual scholar to marry Madame Corneuil. 
You flatter yourself that you are inspiring her 
with your own tastes and your enthusiasms, 
wdrich only fill her with indulgent compassion. 
You bore her with your talk about Manetho; 
but, as she has many talents, one of them is 
that of sleeping without showing it.” 

“ Have you finished, dear uncle ? ” 

“ My sweet friend, I will spare you the rest.” 


KING APEPI. 


133 


“ Have yon written to my mother ? ” 

“Not yet ; I do not know what to write. I 
am greatly embarrassed.” 

“ If yon remember, yon gave me yonr word 
of honor as an nncle and a gentleman that yon 
would do nothing without my knowledge.” 

“ Upon my word of honor, both as uncle and 
as a gentleman, yon may see my letters. Come 
again in two days, at this same hour, because I 
do not come in until dinner-time. I will show 
you the rough drafts.” 

“ Now we understand each other,” answered 
Horace; “ it is war, but an honorable war.” 

And he took leave of his uncle without shak- 
ing hands, so deeply did he take to heart the 
impertinent insinuations of Monsieur de Mira- 
val ; but on his way back he soon began to find 
them rather more amusing than impertinent. 
He ended by rehearsing them to himself laugh- 
ingly, and he also laughingly repeated them to 
Madame Corneuil, to whom he gave a minutely 
faithful and exact account of his visit at the 
Hotel Gibbon. His sincerity was rewarded by 
a most enchanting smile and many evidences of 
lovely and delightful tenderness. As in the 
arbor, a radiant brow was bent forward as if to 
meet his lips. It is not true that there is no 
kiss like the first. The second filled Horace 
with such sweet intoxication that he could not 


134 


KING APEPI. 


work the rest of the day without abstraction. 
He was busy in remembering it. 

His surprises were not over. Upon going 
th^ next day but one to the rendezvous ap- 
pointed by his uncle, he learned that Monsieur 
de Miraval had left the evening before, and this 
time for good. No one could tell where he had 
gone. He had paid his bill, and quitted the 
hotel without further explanation. Did the 
marquis suspect that his inconsistent and whim- 
sical behavior was troubling greatly the heart 
of an adorable woman, and even disturbing her 
nightly repose ? Madame Corneuil was again 
overcome by these perplexities, which told upon 
her disposition. Madame Veretz had hard 
work to defend herself, although, to tell the 
truth, she was not in the least to blame. 

“ Bah ! ” said Horace to them. “We distress 
ourselves altogether too much about all this. 
What is the use of tormenting ourselves and 
bothering our heads about it ? Let us not sus- 
pect dark mysteries where there are none at all. 
I had not seen my uncle before for two years. 
Perhaps, fresh as he seems, the approach of age 
may make itself felt ; perhaps he may not have 
all his wits. I am distressed about it, for I love 
him dearly; and, if he is losing his mind, I 
freely forgive him for the outrageous things he 
said to me.” 


KING APEPI. 


135 


He did not know what to think when, at the 
end of a week, one morning when it was pour- 
ing hard, he saw Monsieur de Miraval enter his 
study, looking sober and melancholy, with 
clouded brow and lack-lustre eye. 

“ Where did you come from, uncle ? ” ex- 
claimed he. 

“ Where should I come from if not fro*m my 
hotel ? ” answered the marquis. 

u But you left it a week ago.” 

“ I mean the Hotel Beau-Rivage, on the edge 
of the lake at Ouchy, the port of Lausanne, 
where I settled myself, after I became dissatis- 
fied with the Hotel Gibbon.” 

“ I know very well,” said Horace, “ that the 
Hotel Beau-Rivage is at Ouchy, neither am 
I ignorant of the fact that Ouchy is the port 
of Lausanne. But I do not know why you 
changed your quarters without letting me 
know.” 

“ Excuse me, boy — I am so busy.” 

“ With what ? ” 

“ That is my secret.” 

“ I am sorry for it, uncle, but your secret does 
not make you happy. Where is all your gay- 
ety ? You seem as dismal to-day as a prison. 
Can you be tormented by remorse ? ” 

“ What makes you think of remorse ? This 
cursed rain troubles me. Look at that lake ; it 


136 


KING APEPI. 


is rough and ugly. Does it always rain here- 
about ? Have you a barometer ? ” 

“ Here is one, at your service. Pray, do you 
confide your secrets to my mother ? Have you 
in your pocket the rough draft of the letter 
which you were to show me ? ” 

The marquis answered neither yes nor no. 
He walked up and down the room, cursing the 
rain which prevented everything, and every now 
and then he returned to the barometer, which 
he tapped obstinately in hope that it might in- 
dicate fair weather. Then, in the midst of a 
lamentation, he took his hat and rushed out as 
brusquely as he had entered, in spite of his 
nephew’s efforts to keep him to breakfast. 

The next day, being Sunday, it did not rain, 
thanks to heaven, but it made up for it by blow- 
ing very hard. The lake, lashed by the breeze, 
was no longer itself ; it had the appearance of 
an angry ocean. The marquis returned at the 
same hour, looking as cross and as disturbed as 
on the previous day, swearing against the wind 
as energetically as he had protested against the 
rain. He could talk of nothing else, and again 
tapped the barometer, but this time he wished 
to make it fall. “ The stupid thing has gone up 
too high ! ” growled he. 

“ It probably did not understand exactly 
what you wanted it to do,” said Horace. 


KING APEPI. 


137 


<£ I am in no mood for joking,” answered lie, 
“ and am going out.” 

In vain Horace tried to keep kim ; lie reached 
the door and stairway, whither his nephew fol- 
lowed him, and then, taking his arm, said that 
he was determined to accompany him back to 
his hotel. He hoped that on his way thither 
he might make him talk of something besides 
the wind. They had not gone fifty steps when 
they saw a carriage coming at full speed,, as if 
to get out of the storm, and in it were Madame 
Veretz and her daughter. The ladies were re- 
turning from mass at Lausanne, where it has 
been celebrated ever since there has been a 
Catholic church on the Riponne. 

Just as they were about to cross, Madame 
Veretz, who was always on the look-out, gave 
an order to the coachman, and the carriage 
stopped short. Horace took care not to let go 
his uncle’s arm, and obliged him to halt. Evi- 
dently the charm at once began to act again, 
for as he drew near the open door of the car- 
riage, and the marquis encountered the glance 
of Madame Corneuil, his countenance fell. He 
bowed awkwardly, muttered a few words ut- 
terly devoid of sense or any pretensions thereto, 
then, freeing himself from his nephew’s grasp, 
he made another bow, and, turning his back/ 
upon them, disappeared. 


138 


KING APEPI. 


“ He grows more and more inexplicable,” 
said Madame Veretz. “ I begin to think his 
conscience troubles him.” 

“ He is a conspirator with occasional twinges,” 
said Madame Corneuil. 

44 He confessed to me yesterday that he had a 
secret,” said Horace. 

“ I can guess it,” resumed Madame V6retz. 

“ And to clear my conscience,” answered Hor- 
ace, “ I am going to write to my mother this 
very evening.” 

As often happens, the wind suddenly fell 
during the night. In consequence, the marquis 
was not to be seen the next day. Madame Ve- 
retz strove to find out about him, and a few 
hours later she had the satisfaction of telling 
her daughter and Monsieur de Penneville that, 
every morning, except when it was rainy or 
windy, the Marquis de Miraval took the boat 
which crossed the lake from Ouchy to Evian, 
and passed the entire day in Savoy, returning at 
the very last moment to dine at the hotel. Now, 
what was his business in Savoy ? They were 
lost in conjectures. The most probable con- 
clusion at which they arrived was that Madame 
de Penneville had left Vichy for Evian, and 
that her agent and emissary joined her every 
day to confer with her, and that the bomb 
would explode before long. Madame Veretz 


KING APEPI. 


139 


seriously expressed a wish, although under the 
form of a joke, that the marquis should be 
tracked, and that Monsieur de Penneville should 
go to Evian next day to find out what was go- 
ing on. Her daughter and Horace disliked the 
idea, and declined the proposition, one from 
honor, the other from prudence. Madame 
Corneuil, who had been timid ever since the 
night when she had been so disturbed by bad 
dreams, said to herself, “ Out of sight out of 
mind.” Not that she minded so much that for 
an entire day the lake would separate her and 
her beloved, but she was afraid lest, in the 
chances of this expedition, he might fall into 
the hands of the Philistines, who would get 
him away from her. 

Their anxiety was soon over. Horace had 
written to his mother, and received from her 
the following reply : 

“ My Dear Child : Monsieur de Miraval 
agreed to let you know my inmost thoughts on 
the subject of the marriage which you are con- 
templating. Why do you speak of plotting ? 
Your uncle wrote to me, and, to prove to you 
how sincerely I am acting in this matter which 
troubles me so much, I take upon myself to 
send you his letter, begging you to say nothing 
to him about it, for he would not easily forgive 


140 


KING APEPr. 


my indiscretion. You will see by this letter how- 
little lie is prejudiced against the woman you 
love and consequently the objections which he 
makes to your scheme deserve to be taken into 
serious consideration by you. Your mother, 
who desires nothing but your happiness .’ 7 

The letter of the marquis ran thus : 

“ My Deak Mathilde : I have delayed tak- 
ing pen in hand and trust you will forgive me. 
The case is altogether different from what I 
expected, and demands further reflection. I 
have very little hope of separating Horace 
from her whom I call his ‘ asp of the Nile.’ I 
promised you that I would bring all my diplo- 
matic talent to bear on this occasion. I was 
wrong to be so sure of my weapons ; what can 
diplomacy effect where such a woman is con- 
cerned ? You know that I came here armed 
with prejudices to the teeth; you know, also, 
that I am somewhat a judge of both men and 
women, and that I do not lack quickness of per- 
ception. I have seen and I have been con- 
quered ; I could not help saying so to Madame 
Corneuil herself. I will not speak to you of 
her marvellous beauty, the grace of her wit, her 
literary talent, which is of the highest order, or 
the nobility of her sentiments. One word will 


KINO APEPI. 


141 


suffice. You know how great was my horror of 
this marriage; I entered upon a campaign of 
which I have a very disagreeable remembrance. 
For the first time — you will believe you are 
dreaming, my dear, and yet it is only too true 
— yes, if it were not for Horace, if Madame 
Corneuil’s heart were free, if my sixty-five years 
did not terrify her, yes, I would without hesita- 
tion dare to venture all, and. I believe I could 
thus secure happiness during the few years I 
have yet to live. You will laugh at me, and 
rightly. Fortunately, Horace exists ; and, be- 
sides, be assured, I should stand no chance of 
being accepted. 

“ There, let us leave my little Utopia and 
speak of Horace. If things are so, you will 
say, let him marry her ! No, my dear Mathilde. 
I do not think it would be a happy marriage. 
There is a decided want of sympathy in the dis- 
position, taste, and character of these two be- 
ings ; it is impossible for me to admit that they 
are made for one another. I have spoken my 
mind freely to Horace, but there is no reason- 
ing with a lover. You might as well play the 
flute to a fish. I have tried both lovers and fish 
unsuccessfully, and they are the hardest creat- 
ures on earth to persuade. Nevertheless, I will 
make one more attempt and renew the attack 
at the favorable moment, and you shall hear 


142 


KING APEPI. 


from me before long. But I must say, without 
reproaching you, however, that I regret bitterly 
ever coming to Lausanne ; you little suspect the 
poor service you rendered me > in sending me 
hither, or the stormy days and troubled nights 
spent here by your old uncle, who embraces 
you.” 

Five minutes after reading this letter- — that 
is to say, at ten o’clock in the morning — Hor- 
ace, transgressing all the rules of the country, 
ran to the chalet, where he was received by 
Madame Veretz. He was beside himself, and 
the first thing which he did was to burst out 
laughing. 

“ Hush ! ” said she, grasping him by the arm. 
“ JDo you forget that it is against rules to laugh 
here in the morning ? ” 

Horace threw a passionate kiss in the direc- 
tion of the sanctuary and said to Madame Ve- 
retz : “ Hear madame, come as soon as you can 
into the garden, for positively I must laugh.” 
As soon as they were in the arbor — “ Oh,” re- 
sumed he, “ something altogether too funny has 
happened ! ” 

“ What has happened ? What is it all 
about ? ” 

“ My poor, poor uncle ! ” and he burst out 
laughing again. 


KING APEPI. 


143 


“ Explain yourself, for pity’s sake ! ” said 
Madame Veretz. 

“ Fancy ! He is desperately in love with 
Hortense.” 

Madame Veretz started. “You are telling 
me a most extraordinary story.” 

“ Only listen to me, please.” Thereupon he 
read both letters aloud, interrupting his reading 
at intervals to indulge freely in bis gayety. 

The first thing Madame Veretz did was to 
laugh also, the second to listen with religious 
attention, the third to take the letters, which 
Horace had just read, out of his hands, and to 
verify the most interesting passages. It is well 
to believe only one’s own eyes. 

“ Oh, my poor uncle ! ” exclaimed Horace. 
“ So this was your famous secret ! He must 
have rewritten that letter ten times before send- 
ing it off ; he was afraid, my mother would 
laugh at him. Just notice the pains he has 
taken to make it all a joke, and yet how, in 
spite of himself, he betrays the seriousness of 
his passion. Yes, 1 his days are stormy and his 
nights disturbed.’ I can well conceive it. I 
beg you to note how everything is explained — - 
his incoherent conduct, his blushes, his perplex- 
ity, his singular attacks of rudeness, and all his 
impolite behavior toward you, when he is so 
polite and such a slave to conventionality ! He 


144 


KING APEPI. 


has determined not to set foot in your house 
again, as the butterfly resolves not to fly again 
into the flame of the candle. Every morning 
he thinks, 4 I must leave Lausanne, I will go 
away,’ but has not the courage to go. And, 
since he cannot keep still, he airs his love- 
troubles on the lake. We wondered what he 
could be doing in Savoy. He goes to Meillerie 
to look at the rock of Saint-Preux, and rehearse 
his sorrows in its great shadow. Then he says 
to himself again, 4 1 must go,’ and yet he does 
not go, but every day begins to make his wide 
and monotonous circuit round the chalet, where 
his heart remains fixed.” 

44 Yes,” said Madame Veretz; 44 that is it. 
We must believe that the planets love the 
sun, and yet fear it. That is the reason why 
they move round it in circles.” 

44 But, to speak the truth,” observed Horace, 
resuming his serious manner, 44 that is not pre- 
cisely the way astronomers explain the thing.” 

44 Heaven help them ! ” said Madame Veretz. 
With these words she slipped into her pocket 
the marquis’s letter, which Horace never thought 
of asking for again. 

44 Really,” continued he, 44 1 love and respect 
my uncle, and it goes against my conscience to 
laugh at him. But I cannot pity him. He 
undertook a very ugty mission; and pray ob- 


KING APEPI. 


145 


serve that even now he flatters himself that he 
may gain the case, and he still cherishes, I 
know not how, a faint hope. Heavens ! how 
I long to tell the story to dear Hortense ! ” 

“If you think anything of my judgment, my 
dear count, you will not tell her a word of it, 
not a single word,” answered Madame Veretz, 
seriously. “ Let us laugh over it between our- 
selves like two school-fellows, but you know 
Hortense does not like to laugh. She is so, sen- 
sitive that that which amuses us might wound 
or grieve her.” 

“ Heaven preserve me from that ! Still, I am 
sorry that you forbid it, it is such a good story ! ” 
Thereupon he left her, but, on returning to his 
own room, said to himself, “No matter, sooner 
or later, when the right moment comes, I shall 
speak about it to Hortense.” 

y. 

It was nearly ten o’clock in the evening. The 
mother and daughter were alone in their salon. 
Madame Veretz was seated at her embroidery - 
frame, Madame Corneuil was leaning back 
dreamily on a lounge; as she was not medi- 
tating, it was allowable to talk. 

“ Then to-morrow is the great day,” said her 
10 


146 


KING A PE PI. 


mother to her, in lifting her head from her 
work. 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Monsieur de Penneville is to produce his 
great work. He has told me that his manu- 
script is seventy-three pages long, neither more 
nor less; you know how important those pages 
are. We shall not get off under less than two 
whole hours of it by the clock. That man’s 
voice is so distinct and penetrating that we can 
hear without listening. It fills our ears whether 
we wish it or not. You are fortunate, my dear; 
Monsieur de Miraval told the truth when he 
said that you have the faculty of sleeping with- 
out showing it.” 

“That is rather a questionable joke,” answered 
Madame Corneuil, haughtily. 

“It is no crime in my eyes ; we must protect 
ourselves against Apepi as well as we can. 
Everyone has his own way of getting out of 
the rain. Heavens ! the dear fellow may have 
his peculiarities, but that does not prevent him 
from having a kind heart, and all that ; neither 
does it prevent him from being adored.” 

“ Oh, yes, I adore him,” answered Madame 
Corneuil, sharply, “ or rather, Monsieur de Pen- 
neville is inexpressibly dear to me, and I beg 
you never to doubt that.” 

Madame Veretz began to embroider again, 


KING APEPI. 


147 


and after a short silence, said : “ Good heavens ! 
what a pity ! ” 

“ What is the matter now ? ” 

“ What a pity it is that the uncle is not the 
nephew, or the nephew the uncle ! ” 

“ What uncle are you talking about ? ” 

“ The Marquis de Miraval.” 

“ That conspirator ! That dreadful old man ! ” 
“You never gave him a fair look — he is not 
dreadful at all. His expression is charming, 
his voice is fresh, his hand dimpled and soft, 
just the hand of a diplomatist or prelate. Do 
you dislike him so much ? ” 

“ Unspeakably.” 

“You are unjust, very unjust; he has a great 
many different kinds of merit. In the first 
place, he is a marquis ; the other is only a count, 
and the streets are full of counts. Then, too, 
his income is not sixty thousand francs ; he has 
more than three times as much.” 

“Two hundred thousand,” said Madame Cor- 
neuil. “ Why do you stop there ? ” 

“Yet another advantage; if he chooses to 
marry again, he is not obliged to endeavor to 
reconcile his mother to the marriage. We may 
try in vain. Madame de Penneville will never 
like us. You see that she will break with her 
son, and that will be a bad thing for you. The 
world, in such cases, always sides with the 


148 


KING APEPI. 


mother ; and then, Monsieur de Miraval is no 
antiquary, but a man of the world, and, what is 
more, a very ambitious one. He has determined 
to enter political life again ; before many 
months he will be either deputy or senator, as 
he chooses.” 

“ Who told you so ? ” 

“ He himself, and he added that his only 
grief was that he was unmarried, for he needed 
a salon , and there could be no salon without a 
wife. The other only cares for grottoes, and 
only sighs for his dear Memphis, whither he 
will take you at once.” 

“ You know well,” answered she, quickly, 
“ that Horace will do exactly as I wish.” 

“ Do not trust to that. Monsieur de Mira- 
val says he is gentle but determined. Good 
heavens ! what can we find to do in Egypt, we 
who look upon our lives as a vocation, as an 
apostleship ? The bottom of an hypogeum is a 
fine place to follow a vocation in ! ” 

“ What has gone wrong with you to-night ? ” 
said Madame Corneuil, shaking her beautiful 
head like a bored Muse, and pouting her Juno 
lips like a Juno who has not yet met her Jupi- 
ter. 

Madame Veretz drew her needle in and out, 
and hummed a tune to herself. Madame Cor- 
neuil renewed the conversation. “ I do not 


KING APEPI. 


149 


know wliat possesses yon,” remarked she ; 
“ you seem to have set to work to disgust me 
with my happiness. Who was it who wished 
for this marriage, or at least advised it? ” 

“ Love makes up for everything else, my 
daughter. So regret nothing, since you love 
him.” 

“ Heavens ! you know very well that I never 
met the man of my dreams. But I love Horace ; 
I mean, by that, that I have liked him and still 
like him. But you have not told me why to- 
night ” 

“ Good ! ” thought Madame Veretz, “ we have 
got over adoration,” and she resumed aloud : 
“ My beauty, Monsieur de Penneville is a splen- 
did parti, I do not dispute that, and I recom- 
mended him because I had nothing better to 
offer.” 

“ While to-night ” 

“ Ah, to-night I know of another one.” 

Madame Veretz rose from her chair, and, 
after rummaging in her pocket, drew near her 
daughter, and said to her : “ Read these two 
letters ; I do not give them to you, I only lend 
them, for Monsieur de Penneville noticed that 
I kept them, and I must send them back to him 
to-morrow morning.” 

Madame Corneuil cast her eyes disdainfully 
over the first of the two letters ; but, when she 


150 


KING APEPI. 


began the second, she changed her position, 
roused herself from her languor, her pale cheek 
was suffused with color, and something could 
be read in her eyes which her drooping eyelids 
did not strive to conceal. And yet, when she 
had finished reading, she rose, enclosed both let- 
ters in an envelope, begged her mother to direct 
it, rang for Jacquot, and said to him : “ Take 
this packet to Count de Penneville immediate- 
ly ! ” after which she sank back on the lounge 
again. 

“ Did those scraps of paper burn your fin- 
gers?” asked Madame Veretz, with a smile. 

“You should have spared me the trouble of 
reading such rubbish,” answered she. 

“ Rubbish, my dear ? What would the mar- 
quis say if he heard that ? The poor man is 
dreadfully excited ! It is his own fault : why 
did he come near a beautiful pair of eyes which 
are accustomed to work such miracles ? ” 

“ Not another word,” rejoined the daughter. 
“ You know I cannot endure that sort of jest- 
ing.” 

Madame Yeretz returned to her embroidery. 
Madame Corneuil rose, and walked up and 
down the room restlessly and excitedly. Then 
she seated herself at the piano, and sighed forth 
in an agitated, passionate voice that song of 
Mignon’s which Horace loved so well. She 


KING APEPI. 


151 


stopped in the middle of the last verse, and, 
turning toward her mother, said : “ No, I do 
not understand you. Is it possible that you 
can seriously propose to me to give up a man 
who is full of good qualities, a man worthy of 
my esteem, and personally attractive also ? ” 

“ The other morning, when he laughed so, he 
looked like a splendid sheep who had learned 
Coptic,” interrupted Madame Veretz. 

“ A man who has ray word,” resumed she. 
“ You dread scandal ; I think, then, there would 
be something to criticise.” 

“ It is only necessary to take the proper pre- 
cautions. We need not leave him — he can leave 
us.” 

u And for whom should I sacrifice him ? for 
a man of seventy ? ” 

“ Oh, by your leave — the marquis is only 
sixty-five, and he does not look that. He has 
had a splendid past, and will still have a pleas- 
ant future. I predict a great success for him in 
the tribune, one of those successes which is re- 
warded with a ministry. France is so poor in 
men ! and then, my dear idol, you had better 
believe that only old men know how to love ! 
They are so pleased that they are tolerated ; I 
will add also that Monsieur de Miraval has fine 
taste — he appreciates our writing. He stamps 
it 4 of the highest order.’ ” 


152 


KING APEPI. 


Thereupon Madame Veretz left her work 
again, ran to her daughter, and, clasping her in 
her arms, said : 

“ Are you vexed ? Then we will say no more 
about it. Monsieur de Penneville and his uncle 
are totally unlike. You like one ” 

“ You never get the right word — I do not dis- 
like him.” 

“ And you do dislike the other ? ” 

“ Heavens ! I did dislike him.” 

“ Well, then they are both on the same foot- 
ing, on the same level. The lists are open.” 

“ You are quite right ; you will end by of- 
fending me in good earnest,” answered Madame 
Corneuil, lighting a candle to retire to her 
room. 

As she was going out she drew near the win- 
dow, and for a moment gazed upon the starry 
vault as if to seek there for an inspiration* 
Then, turning to her mother, she said, resolutely 
and solemnly : “ Be sure that I shall consult my 
heart alone. If you misapprehend my senti- 
ments, I shall reserve the right to disclaim 
them.” 

Madame V eretz kissed her once more, saying : 
“You are just like the King of Prussia ; you 
talk about your heart and your conscience, and 
let things take their own course, merely reserv- 
ing the right to disclaim your responsibility. 


KING APEPI. 


153 


Well, then, I will be your Bismarck.’' And 
with this, she accompanied her adorable angel 
to the door of her sacred retreat. 

The next day a fine rain fell in the early 
morning, notwithstanding which the marquis 
did not visit his nephew, which disappointed 
Madame Veretz exceedingly; perhaps she had 
intended to stop him on the way and take pos- 
session of him. In the afternoon the weather 
cleared up, and she proposed to her daughter to 
take a drive. Horace did not go with them; 
he intended to go over his manuscript again, so 
that there should be no impediment in his read- 
ing it aloud in the evening; lie felt as if he 
could never do it justice. 

As the ladies were returning from their drive 
along the beautiful esplanade of Montbenon, 
which commands a wonderful view of the lake 
and the Alps, Madame Veretz, whose eyes fer- 
reted out everything, perceived the marquis 
seated in a melancholy attitude upon a solitary 
bench. She alighted at once from the carriage, 
begging her daughter to return alone. A few 
minutes after, with seeming carelessness, she 
passed before the marquis at a distance of 
about ten paces, and uttered a little cry of 
joyful surprise. Monsieur de Miraval saw a 
most beautiful red chignon come between 
him and the Alps; he would have preferred 


154 


KING APEPI. 


it to liave been golden, but made the best of 
it. 

“ Thanks be to this happy chance ! ” exclaimed 
Madame Veretz. “You are my prisoner, Mon- 
sieur le Marquis, and must surrender at discre- 
tion.” 

He offered her his arm, saying : “ I am much 
pleased with my jailer, dear madame.” 

“ I will excuse you from being gallant,” an- 
swered she. “ I only wish you to speak to me 
openly, if that can ever be asked of a diplo- 
matist. Will you be sincere ? ” 

u I will be as sincere as Amen-heb, surnamed 
the truth-telling keeper of the hocks of Am- 
mon.” 

“ You must begin by acknowledging that I 
have a right to question you. Has not your 
conduct toward us been most peculiar ? Since 
the day Monsieur de Penneville introduced you, 
you have taken every pains to avoid us.” 

“ Believe me, madame ” 

“ Really, what harm could we have done to 
you? You certainly must have discovered that 
I was a fool.” 

“ Hear madame, from the first moment when 
I had the honor of meeting you, I looked upon 
you as a woman of great talent.” 

“ If that be so, can it be my daughter who 
has the misfortune to displease you ? ” 


KING APEPI. 


155 


“Your daughter!” exclaimed the marquis. 
“ Could I be so cursed bv God and man ! Why, 
she is adorable.” 

“ The very words of the letter,” thought Ma- 
dame Veretz; “he is right in sticking to it.” 
Then she resumed : “ Monsieur le Marquis, 
what means all this mystery, then ? ” 

“ Ah ! madarne,” said he, looking slyly at her, 
“ you are a very clever woman, and you live 
with those who can decipher hieroglyphics* I 
am afraid you may have divined me.” 

“ You exaggerate my clairvoyance. I have 
divined nothing whatever. Is it true, as Mon- 
sieur de Penneville pretends, that you have a 
secret ? ” 

“ Can my nephew accidentally have discov- 
ered that secret ? You alarm me ; he is the last 
man in the world to whom I would make my 
confession.” 

“ I can easily believe that,” thought she ; “ we 
have the hare by the ears now.” Gently press- 
ing the marquis’s arm, she said to him : “ In- 
deed, I do not understand you at all, and I like 
nothing better than making out people. Will 
you no't reveal this dreadful secret to me?” 

“ Never, madarne, never. I have not yet lost 
all respect for my white hairs ; I stand in awe 
of them ; do you want me to cover them with 
everlasting ridicule ? ” 


156 


KING APEPI. 


“You are the only one who sees they are 
white/’ said she, with a most encouraging 
glance. 

“ And then,” resumed he, “ you would betray 
me to Horace. For the first time an uncle 
trembles before his nephew.” 

“ I shall have to give it up,” thought Madame 
Yeretz, a little angry; “his white hairs and his 
nephew are a restraint upon him. He will not 
speak until the other has left the place.” After 
a pause she resumed: “ Monsieur le Marquis, if 
you had been less stingy of your visits you 
would have both honored and delighted us, 
for I longed to see you, and talk with you 
about something which troubles me. I have my 
secret as well, and I longed to confide it to you. 
Yes, for several days, I have been very much 
disturbed. Monsieur de Penneville, who has the 
unfortunate habit of telling everything ” 

“Very unfortunate, indeed, madame; I have 
often reproved him for it.” 

“ Without curing him of it, however,” pursued 
she, “ since he repeated to us a conversation which 
he had had with you. without keeping back any 
of the objections which occurred to you on the 
subject of his marriage.” 

“ I recognize him there, the wretch ! ” said the 
marquis. 

“ It has given me a great deal to think of, 


KING APEPI. 


157 


and I am forced to respect your excellent rea- 
sons. 1 am greatly to blame, for I have been 
cruelly mistaken. There is not between those 
young people that harmony of character and of 
taste which is the first condition of happiness.” 

“ How^ pleased I am to hear you speak thus ! ” 
exclaimed he. “ The great point is harmony of 
tastes ; neither is that enough. According to 
the ideas of providence and also my own, mar- 
riage should be a mutual admiration society. 
Now, I have become acquainted with — yes, dear 
madame, I am acquainted with a woman of most 
uncommon merit. She has published admirable 
sonnets, which Petrarch might envy her if he 
were still alive, and a treatise on the duties and 
virtues of woman, to which Fenelon would not 
have refused to put his name if Bossuet would 
not have disputed the honor with him. Are you 
listening ? She lent those precious volumes to a 
man who pretends to be in love with her ; the 
unfortunate fellow could not read them through. 
I have seen both volumes : one is only half cut, 
the other is still untouched, absolutely uncut. 
The best part of the whole thing is, that the 
poor fellow fancies he has read them, and is 
ready to swear that he admires them. But 
don’t repeat my story to Madame Corneuil.” 

“As for Madame Corneuil,” answered she 
with a smile, “ she will undoubtedly publish at 


158 


KING APEPI. 


some future clay a book on the duties of moth- 
ers, and I am sure she will number indiscretion 
among their virtues. Alas ! mothers are often 
considered indiscreet, and the story you have 
just related is well suited to enlighten my 
daughter as to her own feelings and those 
which Horace pretends to entertain toward her. 
Besides, I ought to confess to you that she her- 
self—” 

“ Speak, madame, speak ; you ought, you say, 
to confess to me that she herself ” 

“ Oh ! my daughter has so profound a soul 
that she keeps her feelings to herself. But for 
a long time I have observed that she is thought- 
ful, serious, almost sad, and I ask myself if she, 
too, may not have reflected.” 

The marquis let go Madame Veretz’s arm 
that he might wipe his forehead with his hand- 
kerchief. There is such a thing in the world 
as perspiration caused by delight. 

“ Ah ! you are glad, old fellow ! ” said Ma- 
dame Veretz within herself. “ You have for- 
gotten your white hairs. Let us see if you are 
going to speak.” 

The marquis did not speak. It might have 
been said that his joy was so great as to make 
him forget where he was and with whom. 
Nevertheless, he finally remembered ; and, seiz- 
ing Madame Veretz's hand, he lifted it almost 


KING APEPI. 


159 


lovingly to his lips, so that she was afraid he 
had misunderstood her. “ Dear madame,” said 
he, “ all men who meddle with literature have 
a passion which is stronger and more enduring 
than love, and that is self-love, and to kill the 
lover it is sometimes only necessary to prick the 
author with a pin.” 

“We were made to talk together,” said she 
to him; “we understand each other with half 
a word. But pray, Monsieur le Marquis, if the 
prick of a pin does have such a wonderful ef- 
fect, will you tell me your secret ? ” 

“ No, madame, but I will write it to you.” 

“ That is a thing agreed upon,” answered she, 
giving him her hand, which he pressed convul- 
sively in his gratitude. She then turned to- 
ward the Pension Vallaud, saying to herself, 
“That is the ideal son-in-law of my dreams.” 


VI. 

Horace had been reading fully twenty min- 
utes. They were listening or pretending to lis- 
ten to him. The pretty drawing-room of the 
chalet was situated on the ground-floor, and, as 
the evening was warm, the window had been 
left open. Had there been passers-by, the 
sound of their footsteps might have disturbed 


160 


KING APEPI. 


him ; but, thanks to heaven, there were none. 
Jacquot and his horn had retired to his attic, 
and were peacefully sleeping in each other’s 
arms. The birds in the park had agreed to 
keep silence, that they might hear better, with- 
out losing a word; it is true that the season 
had come when they had ceased to sing. From 
the bosom of their ethereal abodes, the stars, 
those dwellers in eternal silence, cast a friendly 
glance upon him. He read with dignity, with 
zeal, and with conviction, but also modestly. 
Now and then he stopped to say : “ If you have 
any observations to make, do not hesitate, I 
shall be much obliged to you for them.” But 
they took very good care not to make any ob- 
servations. 

We said before that he had the precious 
faculty of combining sensations, by which he 
could enjoy several things at the same time, 
and all these different pleasures combined to 
make but one. The exquisite scent of jasmine 
in bloom came into the parlor through the 
half-open window. He breathed in the per- 
fume with delight, and, although he was ab- 
sorbed in his reading, he now and then looked 
out at the stars, and thought of those beautiful 
hazel eyes, which were lovelier to look upon 
than all the stars of heaven. He could not see 
those beautiful eyes, for Madame Corneuil was 


KING APEPI. 


161 


seated upon a luxurious divan in the back- 
ground, where the glare of the lamp could not 
reach her. Reclining and silent, she was all 
ears, for darkness is favorable to attention. I 
cannot swear that her thoughts did not occa- 
sionally wander. She might have been think- 
ing of the two uncut volumes. Madame Veretz 
was seated at her frame, opposite the reader, 
and, as she embroidered, gave him little approv- 
ing nods. Her smile and the sparkle of her 
green eyes also expressed sufficiently the lively 
interest which she took in the Hyksos, unless 
that smile meant simply to say, u Heaven be 
praised, my dear sir — habit makes anything en- 
durable ! ” 

He continued to read, turning over the leaves 
regretfully, for he felt so happy that he wished 
that both his happiness and his reading might 
never come to an end. Before he began, a deli- 
cate hand, which he would have liked to hold 
forever in his own, had placed before him a 
large glass of sweetened water. He moistened 
his lips with it, hemmed to clear his voice, and 
then resumed in these words : 

“ We have demonstrated that the history of 
Joseph, son of Jacob, as contained in the thirty- 
fourth chapter of Genesis and those following, 
bears the evident stamp of authenticity. The 
proper names, of so great importance in such 


162 


KING APEPI. 


cases, also bear further evidence. As everyone 
knows, the officer of Pharaoh, chief of his 
guards or of his eunuchs, who bought Joseph 
from the Ishmaelites, and with whose wife he 
had that unfortunate adventure, from which he 
could only escape by leaving his cloak behind 
him, was called Potiphar, and Potiphar is sim- 
ply Pet-Phra, which signifies consecrated to Ra, 
or the sun-god. Joseph received from Pharaoh 
the title of Zaphnath-paaneah, which must be 
translated into Zpent-Pouch ; now, Zpent-Pouch 
means the creator of life, which proves suffi- 
ciently the gratitude which the Egyptians bore 
to Joseph for having provided for their susten- 
ance during the famine. The daughter of a 
priest of On, or Annu, was given him in mar- 
riage.” 

Here he turned to Madame Veretz : “ Is there 
any necessity for my explaining to you that On, 
or Annu, means the city of the sun, or Heli- 
opolis ? ” 

“ Would you insult me so cruelly \ ” an- 
swered she. 

“Then they bestowed upon him the daughter 
of a priest of On, or Annu, who was called 
Asenath, a name which can be explained as As- 
Neith, thus signifying that she was consecrated 
to the mother of the sun. After this only one 
thing remains to be proved to make us sure that 


KING APEPI. 


163 


the Pharaoh under whose reign Joseph came 
into Egypt was indeed the Shepherd King 
Apepi.” 

“ Here we are at last ! ” exclaimed Madame 
Veretz, joyfully. “ I always loved that Apepi 
without knowing him.” 

“Oh, I do not pretend to rank him too 
highly,” answered he, “ and I should not dare 
to affirm even that he was a person to be loved ; 
but he was a man of merit, and you will see 
that he was in some measure worthy of the con- 
sideration which you wish to bestow upon him. 
Neither can I say that he was handsome, 
although there was character in his face. Do 
you ask how I know this ? In the Museum of 
the Louvre, madame, in Cabinet A of the His- 
torical Museum, there is a figure of green ba- 
salt, somewhat defaced, in which some pretend 
to recognize the best Saite manner. Unfortu- 
nately, the tablets bearing the inscriptions have 
disappeared. Madame, I have the strongest 
reasons for believing that this precious statuette 
is not Saite at all, but the portrait of one of the 
Shepherd kings, and that this Shepherd king is 
Apepi. So you perceive — ” He lifted the 
glass to his lips again and took a second sip 
methodically, as he did everything; then pur- 
sued his reading. 

“ For this purpose we are obliged to go 


164 


KING APEPI. 


further back. It was toward the end of the 
year 1830 before the Christian era that the sov- 
ereigns of the Theban dynasty began to rise 
against the Hyksos. After a long and painful 
struggle, in which they underwent every change 
of fortune, they drove the Shepherds into 
Lower Egypt. More than a century after, the 
king Kaskenen was seated upon the throne of 
Thebes ; he is mentioned in a papyrus at the 
British Museum, the importance of which no 
one can fail to estimate. It happened, so it is 
written in this papyrus, that the land of Egypt 
fell into the hands of wicked rulers, and at that 
time there was not a king who was possessed of 
strength, health, or life. But behold ! the king 
Kaskenen appeared, full of life, health, and 
strength, and he reigned over the region of the 
south. The wicked had possession of the for- 
tress of the sun, and the entire country was sub- 
ject to their impositions and taxes.. The king of 
the wicked ones was called Apepi, and he chose 
for his lord,” so says the papyrus, “ the god Su- 
tech, that is to say, the god Set, who is no other 
than the Greek god Typhon, genius of evil.” 

“ It is true,” interrupted Madame Veretz, 
“ that Sutech, Set, and Typhon, upon close ex- 
amination, do resemble each other strongly.” 

“ Oh, madame- — please ! ” said he to her ; “ 
are just coming to the principal point.” 


we 


KING APEPI. 


165 


And he resumed : “ He erected in his honor a 
temple of solid masonry, and served none other 
of the gods of Egypt. So the papyrus teaches ; 
and this important document proves : Firstly, 
that the Shepherd kings had taken up their 
abode in the Delta ; secondly, that they had all 
Lower Egypt under their domination; and 
thirdly, that Apepi ” 

Just then it occurred to him that it was long 
since he had heard the adored voice, that voice 
which sang Mignon’s song to him so well ; so, 
turning toward the divan, he said ; “ He was 
also called Apophis, but Apepi is his real name. 
Which of the two do you prefer, Hortense ? ” 
Hortense made no response ; perhaps her emo- 
tion at the narration had taken away her power 
of speech. 

“ Apophis or Apepi ! ” screamed Madame 
Veretz to her — “ choose boldly. Monsieur de 
Penneville leaves it to your decision.” Alas ! 
she made no reply. 

Horace started, he felt a chill run through 
all his frame, like a premonition of destiny. 
He rose, seized a light, walked hastily toward 
the divan. It was only too true, he could doubt 
it no longer — Madame Corneuil was asleep ! A 
little more, and he would have let fall from his 
hands the lamp which had thrown so much 
light upon his disaster. 


166 


KING APEPI. 


“ Heavens ! how she sleeps ! ” exclaimed Ma- 
dame Veretz. “Are you not something of a 
magnetizer ? ” She moved toward her daughter 
as if to awaken her. He drew her back, saying 
with a bitter sneer : “ Oh, respect her repose, I 
implore you ! ” 

It would be wrong to believe that the self- 
love of both author and reader did not suffer 
greatly. Light broke in upon him : he sudden- 
ly came to understand that for several months 
he had either deceived himself or allowed him- 
self to be deceived. Perfectly motionless, with 
cool, fixed, and piercing eye, he gazed upon the 
face of the beautiful sleeper whose pose was 
charming, for she knew well how to sleep. 
Nothing could have been lovelier than the dis- 
array of her beautiful hair, one curl of which 
fell on her cheek. Her lips parted in a half- 
smile ; probably she was dreaming sweetly, and 
had sought refuge in a land where there was no 
Apepi. 

Horace continued to gaze at her, and I know 
not what scales fell one by one from his eyes. 
Charming as she was, he saw her graces disap- 
pear every moment, and was on the point of 
thinking her plain. In truth, he recognized her 
no longer. The miracle which took place at 
Sakkarah, on coming out of the tomb of Ti, had 
been undone ; the connection between the sleeper 


KING APEPI. 


167 


and Egypt was at an end. On leaving Cairo 
she had borne away in her golden hair, in her 
smile, and in her eyes, some of the sunshine 
which ripens the dates, and delights the heart 
of the lotos, and cheers the yellow sand of the 
desert with mirages, and from which the history 
of the Pharaohs cannot hide its secrets. The 
aureole with which it had crowned her brow 
was extinguished in a moment, and he perceived, 
too, that her eyelids were too long, her lips too 
thin, and her arms, which were softly rounded, 
ended in clutching hands, with sheathed claws ; 
that there were little lines round her brow and 
mouth, and these coming wrinkles, which he had 
never before observed, betrayed to him the base 
workings of sordid passions — that restlessness 
of vanity which makes women old before their 
time. Whence came this sudden clairvoyance ? 
He was angry, and, say what they may, intense 
anger is luminous. 

u You must forgive her,” said Madame Veretz, 
“ I have been watching her narrowly from the 
corner of my eye ; she struggled bravely ; un- 
fortunately, her nerves are not so strong as mine. 
You have already put her to severe tests; she 
bore them honorably, but how can one hold 
out longer against that most dreadful of all 
bores, the Pharaonic bore ? Be careful, my 
dear count, she has so much esteem and friend- 


168 


KING APEPI. 


ship for you ; sometimes it only takes a very 
little whim to weary a woman’s heart.” She 
pointed alternately to the closed eyes of her 
daughter and the seventy-three pages. “My 
dear count, you must choose between this and 
that.” 

As he listened, he took note of her with his 
haggard gaze, and her red hair filled him with 
horror. “ Really, madame,” said he to her, “ it 
seems as if I were just beginningto know you.” 
With these words he turned toward the table, 
gathered up his papers, put them into his port- 
folio, put the portfolio under his arm, made a 
low bow, and escaped. 

“ You can wake up, my dear,” said Madame 
V6retz, laughing; “we are delivered forever 
from King Apepi, who lived forty centuries be- 
fore Christ.” 

A head appeared above the window-sill, and 
a voice exclaimed from without : “ Add sixteen 
to that, madame. It is best always to be exact.” 

Count de Penneville went back to his room 
with death in his soul. That which he so bit- 
terly regretted was less a woman than a dream. 
For long months a vision bad been the delicious 
companion of his days ; she had never left him ; 
she was interested in everything that he did; 
she ate and drank with him, she worked with 
him, and dreamed with him. She spoke to 


KING APEPI. 


169 


him, and he answered, and they understood one 
another before the words were spoken. Her 
voice melted his heart. She had golden hair, 
which had one day touched his cheek ; she had 
lips, too, which his own had touched twice. As 
he went on thinking, his anger made him forget 
his grief ; the poor fellow would have given a 
great deal to have his two kisses back again. 

And yet he still had a faint hope. “ No, it 
cannot be ; such things do not happen,” thought 
he. “ She could not have let me leave her thus 
forever. She will call me back ; she is busy in 
writing to me now. Jacquot will come before 
midnight, bringing me a note which will explain 
all.” No Jacquot came, and soon a neighbor- 
ing clock struck midnight. Its melancholy 
stroke resembled a funeral-toll. The clock 
mourned for some one who had just died, and 
Horace realized that his dear companion, his vi- 
sion, Avas no longer in the world. Henceforth he 
would be alone, utterly alone, and his solitude 
filled him with dread. His head fell upon his 
breast, and great tears rolled down his cheeks. 

When he lifted his head he saw he was not 
alone ; that on his table before him stood a lit- 
tle statuette a foot high, looking at him. Her 
name was Sekhet, the helper, and she stretched 
toward him her pretty little catlike face full 
of pitying kindness. He ran to her, and took 


170 


KING APEPI. 


her in his hands. “ Ah ! ” said he, “ you are 
here ; how could I have forgotten you ! I am 
not alone if you remain to me. Someone said 
on this very spot that roses would fade, but the 
gods remained.” As he spoke thus he caressed 
her slender figure and her rounded thighs, and 
ended by kissing her devotedly on the forehead. 
It seemed to him as if the good little Sekhet 
really pitied his sorrows, and was moved and 
touched by them ; that she had a kind little 
heart, like one of the gray nuns, or simply like 
a good, honest human being. It seemed to him 
also that there were tears in her eyes, goddess 
as she was, and that she returned his kiss, al- 
though she was nothing but a bit of blue porce- 
lain. It seemed as if she said to him, “You 
have come back to me, and I will never lend 
you to anyone again.” And yet, good heavens ! 
she had lent so little of him. 

He felt comforted, as if he had purified both 
heart and lips. He stood before the glass, and 
gazed upon himself. He saw that Count Hor- 
ace’s eyes were somewhat red, but, notwith- 
standing that, he saw that Count Horace was 
still a man. He went in search of two large 
empty trunks which he had put aside, and 
dragged them one after the other into his 
chamber ; two minutes later he began to pack 
them. 


KING APEPI. 


171 


On the next afternoon the Marquis de Mira- 
val, who strangely enough had omitted that day 
to cross the lake, although the weather was 
really beautiful, received two letters, one of 
which was brought by the postman, the other 
by Jacquot, in a new suit of clothes.. 

The first, written in a fine and steady hand, 
ran as follows : 

u My Dear Uncle: The situation is vacant 
and at your service. If you have any commands 
for Vichy, please forward them to Geneva, 
where I shall pass the night, leaving to-morrow 
by the express-train, which goes at three o’clock, 
or, to speak more correctly, at twenty-five min- 
utes .past three. Allow me to convey to you 
my best wishes for your happiness, and the as- 
surance of my unchanging affection.” 

The second, hurriedly scribbled, contained 
these words : 

“Monsieur le Marquis: Unfortunately you 
spoke the truth. He either did not love at all 
or else very lightly, since he cannot forgive the 
woman whom he pretended to love for having 
dozed during the reading of his paper upon 
King Apepi. I will leave you to imagine what 
my daughter thinks of it all ; she has taken the 


172 


KING APEPI. 


full measure of the man, and a woman no longer 
loves the man whom she thus measures. I have 
heard that he left immediately, so you need fear 
my imprudence no longer Henceforward noth- 
ing can hinder you from writing and reveal- 
ing to me your secret, or rather, better still, 
come and tell it to us to-night and dine with us.” 

Jacquot carried back the following answer to 
Madame Veretz : 

“ Dear Madame : So I must reveal to you my 
dreadful secret ! I have an unfortunate passion 
which I conceal carefully out of respect for my 
white hairs. Those of my friends who know it 
have mercilessly made fun of me. With blushes 
I confess to you that I dote on fishing ! When 
Madame de Penneville sent me to Lausanne to 
manage a family affair, I consoled myself for 
my inconvenience by remembering that Lau- 
sanne was near a lake, where I might fish. My 
first thought on arriving was to buy fishing-lines 
and all the other necessary apparatus. I did 
not dare to fish in your neighborhood for fear 
I might be surprised, and that my nephew 
would laugh at me. I made inquiries, and was 
told that there was a pretty little place near 
Evian, in Savoy, full of fish. There is an inn* 
on the shore, so I engaged a room there, where 


KING APEPI. 


173 


I kept all my equipments, and every morning I 
crossed the lake to satisfy my passion. 

“ Since I promised you that I would be as 
truth-telling as Amen-heb (chief scribe), I will 
show you how far I was carried away by this 
mania. I left Lausanne for Ouchy with the 
sole intention of getting near fish ; I forgot so 
entirely the business which brought me here 
that I only went to see my nephew twice — one 
day when it blew, and another when it rained, 
because there was no fishing on those days. I 
also declined two most attractive invitations to 
breakfast, because if I had accepted them I 
should have given up the pleasure of fishing for 
two whole days. The lamentable part of it is, 
that, in spite of my pains, my application, and 
perseverance, I caught nothing but a few miser- 
able gudgeons. I kept saying to myself : 4 This 
is too much ; I will leave it all.’ But I did not 
leave it. When I returned to Lausanne, my 
faith in fish would return, but I believe in them 
no longer. Thus our illusions vanish like our 
youth ; our path is strewed with them. Never- 
theless, yesterday, by some incomprehensible 
miracle, I did succeed in catching a good-sized 
eel, who kindly condescended to take my bait 
— so on that I leave. The honor of my white 
hairs is secure. 

“ I beg you, dear madame, to present to your 


174 


KING APEPI. 


adorable daughter, and also accept for yourself, 
the most devoted and respectful compliments of 
the Marquis de Miraval.” 

We will not attempt to describe the expres- 
sion which came over the face of Madame V6- 
retz as she took in the full meaning of this 
reply, the cruel embarrassment which she ex- 
perienced in communicating it to her daughter, 
or the terrible scene which that adored angel 
made for her. Madame Corneuil is less to be 
pitied than her mother, since, in her misfortune, 
she has, at least, one resource, that of relieving 
her mind by the most vehement reproaches, the 
most violent recriminations, and exclamations 
such as, “ Are you not to blame for all this ? ” 
It is said that in this century there lived a queen 
who was very intelligent, very enlightened, full 
of good sentiments, who exercised a great and 
rightful influence in affairs of state. It hap- 
pened, unfortunately, that she was once mis- 
taken, and the fate of a lifetime is sometimes 
settled in a minute. From that moment she 
was no longer consulted. The people she rec- 
ommended were no longer accepted ; her august 
husband said, “ I suspect them all — they are my 
wife’s friends.” So, having been once mistaken, 
Madame V6retz lost all her influence, all her 
credit. Her daughter will remind her to all 


KING APEPI. 


175 


eternity that she once made her forego her prey, 
to chase a phantom with white hair. 

When Count Horace de Penneville entered 
the station at Geneva, impatient to go by the 
train which leaves not at three o’clock, but at 
twenty-five minutes past three, in the afternoon, 
he was greatly astonished to find, seated in a 
corner of the very carriage which he happened 
to enter, his great-uncle, the Marquis de Mira- 
val, who remarked to him, as he helped him to 
stow away carefully all his numberless little 
parcels under the seat and upon the rack, “ My 
son, I have thought the matter well over, and 
have come to the conclusion ‘that there is no 
faith to be put in women who like Apepi one 
day and dislike him the next.” 


THE END. 


9 


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Publications of JOHN DELAY, 816 Broadway, New York 


Hon. UNCLE SAM 

BY 

VISCOUNT VALROSE. 

A Foreigner’s Satire on the Politicians of the United 
States, Anecdotic, Spicy, Pertinent. 


PRESS OPINIONS. 


“Terse, bright, personal.” 

— New York Herald. 

‘ 1 The work sparkles with wit, and 
bristles with epigram from opening to 
finish. It has the charm of a novel, 
the brilliancy of a satire, and the sound 
wisdom of permanent history.” 

— PitUburg Bulletin. 

“M. le Vicomte is cynical on the 
subject of American sociology, and 
the picture he draws is naturally one- 
sided, though often it strikes one by 
its verisimilitude. Bright and read- 
able are the ‘notes’ of this ‘chiel,’ 
and very cleverly he touches Brother 
Jonathan at some of his weakest 
points .” — The Critic. 

“ This book, in whioh there is noth- 
ing to offend reasonable people, and 
much to instruct.” — Truth. 

“ Viscount Valrose is a clever satir- 
ist. Of the pithiness and point of 
this book there can be no dispute.” 

— Charleston News and Courier. 


“A new book that has created talk 
is ‘Hon. Uncle Sam,’ by Viscount 
Valrose. You may differ with the 
Viscount on many points, but you are 
bound to read him. He is clever and 
interesting .” — Texas Siftings. 

“One of the brighest, keenest, wit- 
tiest books of its class. He is at once 
critic and censor, observer and stu ’ 
chroniqueur and historian, g r 
of personalities and pricker o 
bugs with a pointed pen.” 

—Town Topics. 

“ Whether M. le Vicomte Valrose be 
,of the Quartier St. Germain or Latin 
makes no matter, for he certainly 
knows quite well what he writes about 
to his Parisian friend. ‘ Hon. Uncle 
Sam ’ is cleverly worked up. Its para - 
graphic method helps the snap decis- 
ions made on the politics and public 
men of the country. Then when M. 
le Vicomte is telling stories, the mar- 
von, if not glacS, is never stale. It is 
a sharp, incisive little book.” 

— New York Times. 


READY NEXT MONTH. 

GRISETTE, a tale of Paris and New York, by 

Viscount Valrose. 

ROLAND, by Ary Ecilaw. 

No. 2 of the Gleanings from Foreign Authors. 


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